A  PASTEBOARD 
CROWN 


OH  CALIF.  LIBHAHI,  LOS  AHGELIS 


"  I  will  place  the  crown  upon  your  head,"  said  the  actor- 
manager  ;  "  only  promise  not  to  reproach  me  when  you  find 
for  yourself  that  it  is  only  pasteboard !  " 


A  PASTEBOARD 
CROWN        | 


I. 


I 


BY 


y 

|  CLARA    MORRIS 

*  Author  of  "  Life  on  the  Stage"  etc. 


^SMdr 


$ 


fTITH  A  FRONTISPIECE  FROM  A  DRAWING  BY 

HOWARD   CHANDLER    CHRISTY  ;  [ 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S   SONS  )J 

NEW  YORK:::::::::::::::::i902 


Copyright,   1902,  by 
Clara    Morris    Harriott 


Dramatic  and  all  other  rights 
reserved 


Published,   May,  1901 


Trow  Directory 

Printing  <5r>  Bookbinding  Company 
New  York 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  f     T"*  PAGE 

I.  THE  LAWTONS  ARRIVE i 

II.   A  POWERFUL  NEIGHBOR 12 

III.  SHOPPING  UNDER  DIFFICULTIES 23 

IV.  AN  ACQUAINTANCE  RENEWED 32 

V.   "THE  WOMAN  OF  FATE" 44 

VI.   A  RECOGNITION  AND  A  DINNER      ....  53 

VII.   A  PRAYER  AND  A  PROMISE 64 

VIII.    "TELL  HER  You  HAVE  MY  PERMISSION"  .  73 

IX.   THE  ACCIDENT — A  FRIEND  IN  NEED  ...  85 

X.   CALLING  ON  THE  MANAGER 97 

XL   THE  DOUBLE  BIRTHDAY 113 

XII.   THE  PROMISED  CROWN 129 

XIII.  THE  FORMING  OF  THE  CHRYSALIS  .     .     .     .143 

XIV.  THE  RETURN  FROM  THE  WEST 152 

XV.   MRS.  LAWTON  LAYS  PLANS 163 

XVI.   A  STRANGE  BETROTHAL 171 

V 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVII.  THE  COSTUMING  OF  JULIET 188 

XVIII.  A  LOVER'S  PLEA 204 

XIX.  A  FAMILY  SCENE 219 

XX.  A  PROFESSIONAL  LESSON 228 

XXI.  SEEKING  REFUGE  FROM  THE  STORM     .    .  243 

XXII.  PREPARING  THE  PIT 265 

XXIII.  THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  Box 279 

XXIV.  "I  WILL  NOT  DIVORCE  You"  .    .    .     .294 
XXV.  "To  LOVE  is  TO  FORGIVE" 309 

XXVI.   THE  OPAL 325 

XXVII.   THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 344 

XXVIII.   "Tnou  KNOWEST!" 359 


VI 


A    PASTEBOARD 
CROWN 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  LAWTONS  ARRIVE 

It  was  on  a  Monday,  the  3Oth  of  April,  that  the  boys 
with  the  grocers'  and  butchers'  delivery  wagons,  the 
gray-uniformed  postmen  behind  their  bony,  always- 
tired  horses,  and  the  blue-coated,  overfed  mounted  po- 
licemen began  to  circulate  the  report  that  the  old  White 
house  had  found  a  tenant ;  and  every  soul  that  listened 
made  answer :  "  Impossible !  No  one  could  live  in  that 
old  rookery ! "  and  then,  with  incredible  inconsistency, 
ended  with :  "  Who's  taken  it  ?  " 

At  first  no  answer  could  be  given  to  that  question,  but 
later  in  the  day  a  man  who  strung  telegraph  wires  won 
a  brief  importance  through  overhearing  a  conversation 
between  two  men  standing  below  him  and  beside  the 
pole  he  was  mounted  on.  One  man  was  Jacob  Brewer, 
who  now  owned  the  old  White  estate,  and  the  other 
he  ascertained,  by  careful  listening,  to  be  John  Lawton ; 
and  he  learned  that  Mr.  Lawton  was  to  take  possession 
of  the  old  house  the  next  day,  which  would  be  May  1st, 
the  conventionally  correct  day  for  moving. 

Through  the  usual  suburban  channels  this  bit  of  in- 

* 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

formation  was  put  into  circulation  and  swiftly  reached 
every  householder  in  the  village — to  say  nothing  of 
outlying  farmhouses.  And  everywhere  women  with 
towels  about  their  heads — sure  sign  that  the  house- 
cleaning  microbe  is  abroad  in  the  land — could  be  seen 
talking  over  back  fences  to  neighbors  whose  fingers 
were  still  puckered  from  long  immersion  in  the  family 
wash-tub,  and  the  name  Lawton  and  such  disjointed 
exclamations  as :  "  Who?  "  "  Why — how  many  do  you 
suppose  ?  "  and  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  thing  ?  " 
filled  the  warm  air,  even  as  the  frail,  inconsequent  little 
May-flies  filled  it. 

The  telegraph  lineman  over  his  noon  beer  told 
many  times  what  old  Brewer  had  called  the  stranger: 
"  Lawton — yes,  John  Lawton — was  the  name,  and  he 
was  coming  up  the  next  day ;  yes,  come  to  think  of  it, 
he  had  said  they  were  coming — so  there  was  a  family 
of  some  sort."  The  letter-carrier,  in  leaving  the  mail, 
paused  a  moment  to  catch  these  last  words,  and  at  his 
next  stopping-place  he  was  enabled  to  leave  with  a  let- 
ter the  information  that  "  John  Lawton,  who  had 
taken  that  roofless  old  sheebang,  had  a  family  coming 
with  him  " ;  and  the  lady  informed  made  sure  "  he 
would  not  have  a  family  very  long,  if  he  tried  to  keep 
them  in  that  mouldering  old  ruin."  Doctors  hearing 
the  news  exchanged  jests  as  they  met  on  the  roads, 
one  opining  that  "  some  business  was  coming  their  way 
and  that  quinine  would  soon  be  in  demand,"  while 
another,  always  a  pessimist,  said  that  "  any  one  tHat 
was  poor  enough  to  take  the  White  house  to  live  in  was 
too  hard  up  to  pay  a  doctor." 

2 


The  Lawtons  Arrive 

But  really,  no  one  knowing  anything  about  the  old 
place  could  help  having  a  feeling  of  amazement  at  hear- 
ing of  a  tenant  being  found  for  it.  It  was  that  saddest, 
most  uncanny  thing — a  deserted  house.  A  great,  big, 
Colonial-like  frame  structure,  it  stood  high  on  the  hill- 
side, showing  white  and  ghostly  between  the  too- 
closely  set  evergreens  and  conifers  before  it.  That 
money  had  been  lavished  upon  the  place  in  the  distant 
past  was  evident  even  in  these  very  trees,  which  were 
the  choicest  of  their  kind.  He  who  had  planted  them 
must  have  been  a  melancholy  man.  Drooping,  mourn- 
ful trees  seemed  particularly  to  appeal  to  him,  for  the 
very  rare  weeping  hemlock,  like  a  black  fountain,  was 
there  as  well  as  the  weeping  larch,  with  its  small  cones ; 
and  a  veritable  army  of  white  pines,  Norway  spruces, 
balsam  firs,  and  the  red  cedar  that  in  its  blackish  state- 
liness  is  so  like  the  Irish  yew.  A  solemn  company  at 
the  best  of  times,  when  properly  spaced  and  trimmed, 
but  now  with  unpruned  branches  intertwining,  the 
trees  that  were  killing  one  another  in  their  struggle  for 
light  were  positively  lugubrious.  And  behind  that 
screen  of  matted,  many-shaded  evergreen  the  pallid, 
bony  old  house  stood  trembling  under  high  winds, 
while  its  upper  windows  stared  blankly  down  upon  that 
Broadway  that,  escaping  from  the  hurrying  city  with 
its  millions  of  restless  feet,  here  passed  calmly  on,  by 
woodland  and  green  meadows,  toward  distant  Albany. 

The  cruel  roadway  had  swept  away  with  it  all  the 
footsteps  that  had  used  to  make  life  in  the  old  house. 
Two  great  gates  were  let  into  the  stone  wall.  One 
was  locked  so  securely  that  even  a  burglar  might  have 

3 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

failed  to  solve  the  combination  of  a  ten  years'  twisted 
leafy  growth  of  woodbine;  but  whenever  anyone 
wished  to  enter  the  grounds  he  went  to  the  second  gate, 
which  was  easily  opened  by  the  simple  process  of 
throwing  it  down  and  walking  over  it.  Grass  grew  in 
tufts  down  the  old  carriage  drive,  and  all  about  the 
lower  part  of  the  house  were  curious  stains  that  looked 
as  though  little  green  waves  had  washed  up  against  it, 
while  on  the  north  side  the  long  streaks  of  green  be- 
neath the  windows  painfully  suggested  tear-marks  on 
its  white  old  face.  A  melancholy  and  unwholesome 
place  for  people  to  seek  a  home  in,  and  yet  the  morn- 
ing's report  proved  reliable,  for  Jacob  Brewer's  handy 
man  had  been  over  to  the  old  White  house,  as  people 
would  call  it,  because  Peter  White  had  lived  and  died 
there  years  ago,  and  had  cleared  up  a  bit ;  had  secured 
two  or  three  hanging  shutters,  put  a  swing-door  in  the 
kitchen  and  a  bolt  on  the  front  door,  and  had  tacked 
on  to  the  mighty  body  of  an  ancient  willow — a  land- 
mark for  miles  about  that  grew  directly  by  the  un- 
hinged gate — a  strip  of  black  painted  tin,  bearing  in 
gold  letters  the  word  "  Woodsedge  " — and  lo !  the  old 
house  was  ready  for  the  new  tenant. 

Promptly  the  Lawtons  arrived  upon  the  scene  the 
next  day,  preceded  by  a  furniture  van  under  the  di- 
rectorship of  a  very  young,  very  rumpled,  but  most 
optimistic  German  maid-of-all-work,  who  proudly  car- 
ried a  large  key  in  her  hand  as  a  symbol  of  authority. 
She  had  unlocked  and  thrown  wide  the  creaking  front 
door,  opened  the  windows,  made  a  fire  in  the  kitchen, 
and  had  undone  the  bundle  she  had  carried  in  her  lap 

4 


The  Lawtons  Arrive 

all  the  way  from  the  city,  revealing  to  the  astonished 
men  a  small  black  tea-kettle. 

"  Oh,  ja !  I  carry  him  mysel',  und  den  I  have  him 
alretty  und  can  make  quick  de  tea  for  de  mistress — 
right  so  soon  as  she  gits  here !  " 

And  before  the  van  had  been  emptied  a  dust-cov- 
ered hack  arrived,  with  four  people  inside  and  several 
boxes  and  a  trunk  sharing  the  top  with  the  driver.  A 
mounted  policeman,  loitering  along  Broadway  and 
watching  the  debarkation,  saw  John  Lawton — tall  and 
thin  and  almost  white-haired,  a  gentleman  without  a 
doubt — descending.  Then  an  elderly  lady,  with  sur- 
prisingly red  cheeks  glowing  through  a  dotted  veil,  fol- 
lowed, and  then — "  Oh,  by  Jove !  "  muttered  the  blue- 
coat,  as  out  sprang,  one  after  the  other,  the  two  young 
girls,  as  fresh  and  bright  and  full  of  bubbling  laughter 
as  the  day  was  bright  and  full  of  sunshine  and  bird 
song.  Suddenly  a  voice  cried :  "  Sybil — O  Sybil,  take 
care — you've  broken  the  package  of  bird  seed !  " 

And  with  a  laugh  the  girl  addressed  caught  up  her 
skirt  to  save  the  falling  seeds,  revealing  as  she  did  so 
a  pair  of  pretty  feet,  that  presently  began  to  dance 
wildly  about  as  their  owner  cried :  "  Dorothy — O 
Dorothy !  did  you  see  it — a  robin  ?  it's  over  there !  " 

And  up  went  two  veils,  and  two  young  faces  turned 
eagerly  toward  the  spot  where  Mr.  Robin,  with  black 
cap,  yellow  bill,  and  orange-red  breast,  sat  and  looked 
at  them  with  round  black  eyes,  quite  unmoved  by  their 
human  beauty,  as  was  right  and  proper — seeing  that 
he  was  himself  a  bridegroom  just  settling  in  life.  But 
the  policeman  suddenly  put  his  horse  to  the  gallop,  and 

5 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

in  an  hour's  time  everyone  in  the  village  knew  that  the 
Lawtons  had  arrived,  that  they  were  gentlefolk,  and 
that  the  two  girls  were  "  regular  beauties."  While  at 
Woodsedge,  secure  in  the  privacy  the  screening  ever- 
greens provided,  the  Lawtons  turned  to  and  assisted 
the  small  German  maid  in  setting  up  their  somewhat 
battered  household  gods  upon  the  altars  that  had  been 
so  long  empty  and  cold  in  that  sad  old  house. 

As  Mrs.  Lawton  crossed  the  sagging  porch  the  front 
door  was  held  open  by  Lena,  who,  curtseying  and  smil- 
ing her  widest,  flattest  smile,  told  her  that  "  She  was 
com'  at  de  right  place  und  she  vas  velcom'  alretty  as 
anyt'ing,"  the  dignity  of  this  reception  being  somewhat 
marred  by  the  fact  that  Lena  was  hooking  herself  up 
as  she  spoke,  she  having  hastily  exchanged  her  Sunday 
clothes  for  her  working  ones. 

"  Ah,"  moaned  the  welcomed  mistress  to  her  follow- 
ing husband  and  daughters,  "  in  former  years  my  but- 
ler and  housekeeper  would  have  received  me,  and  with 
their  clothes  all  on  "  (the  girls  choked  audibly),  "  but," 
sighed  Mrs.  Lawton,  "  that  was  before  your  poor  mis- 
guided father  had  lost  everything  for  us !  " 

"  Including  the  servants'  clothes,"  whispered  Dor- 
othy, and  with  a  "  Poor  papa !  "  each  girl  gave  him  a 
pat  on  the  arm  as,  passing  him  by,  they  took  hold  of 
their  mother,  and  with  much  loving  bustle  got  her  bon- 
net and  veil  and  gloves  and  beady  mantle  off  and  put 
her  into  the  only  chair  yet  brought  into  the  house, 
where,  with  a  soap-box  beneath  her  feet,  she  could  sit 
and  comfortably  give  directions  that  no  one  heeded, 
and  scold  people  who  were  unconscious  that  they  were 

6 


The  Lawtons  Arrive 

the  objects  of  her  wrath.  Some  shades  were  up,  two 
carpets  were  down,  and  a  gruesome  old  piano  stood, 
glooming,  from  one  end  of  the  sitting-room,  before  the 
girls  would  consent  to  have  lunch,  for,  said  Sybil, 
"  That  piano,  that  noble  instrument  of  perfect  tone 
and  action,  standing  outside  on  the  grass,  was  a  direct 
challenge  to  Heaven  to  send  down  rain." 

"  My  dear,"  mildly  remonstrated  Mr.  Lawton, 
"  don't  be  sarcastic." 

"  John ! "  interrupted  Mrs.  Lawton,  "  I  don't  see 
why  you  should  accuse  the  child  of  being  sarcastic. 
You  must  remember  that  in  about  the  seventies  some 
of  our  greatest  pianists  sat  before  that  instrument, 
which  was  one  of  my  many  wedding  gifts,  and  Sybil 
very  reasonably  called  it  a  pianp  of  perfect  tone  and 
action.  You  should  not  be  so  ready  to  criticise  your 
children,  John.  Oh,  I  do  hope  that  tea  is  going  to  be 
strong,  my  dears,  for  I  am  positively  beyond  speech." 
A  declaration  which  lost  considerable  of  its  force 
when  she  continued  to  describe  the  glorious  past  of  her 
rosewood  monster,  until  she  was  silenced  momen- 
tarily by  a  cup  of  strong  tea.  For,  camping  in  all  the 
wild  confusion  of  boxes  and  bundles,  they  proceeded 
to  enjoy  a  luncheon  of  bread  and  butter  and  chipped 
dried  beef,  with  the  soul-reviving  accompaniment  of 
fragrant  though  forbidden  green  tea.  Just  as  Mrs. 
Lawton,  groaning  over  the  thickness  of  the  bread,  was 
starting  out  to  describe  the  transparent  thinness  of  the 
slices  cut  by  some  bondwoman  of  the  past,  Lena,  all 
smiles,  came  tramping  in  with  a  boiled  egg  in  a  shav- 
ing-mug : 

7 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

"  Youst  for  de  mistress,"  she  announced,  and  placed 
the  mug  on  that  lady's  knee.  "  Dat's  youst  laid  fresh 
dis  minute  alretty.  Wat  you  t'ink  of  dat,  eh  ?  " 

"  But — but !  "  flustered  Mr.  Lawton,  "  that  doesn't 
belong  to  us — we  have  no  hens !  " 

"  No,"  acquiesced  Lena,  "  but  dot  hen  she  nest  on  us 
—so  I  tak'  dot  egg !  " 

"  Well,  that's  dishonest !  "  declared  Mr.  Lawton. 

"  Nein !  nein !  "  contradicted  Lena,  who  always  grew 
more  German  in  excitement :  "  Uf  it  is  tree  egg — 
four — six  egg,  dot  may  make  of  de  steal — but  youst 
one  eggs  only  pay  for  de  use  of  de  nest !  "  And  Lena 
made  a  triumphant  exit  to  the  laughter  of  the  girls  and 
a  thrill  of  song  from  the  canary  on  the  mantel-piece, 
who  dearly  loved  a  noise. 

Meantime  Mrs.  Lawton,  untroubled  by  questions  of 
right  or  wrong,  enjoyed  the  fresh  egg  without  even  a 
word  of  protest  against  the  shaving-mug  accompani- 
ment. As  she  wiped  her  lips,  she  asked,  suddenly: 
"  Girls,  where  on  earth  are  your  dear  grandparents  ?  " 

"  Under  the  piano,"  promptly  replied  Sybil,  who 
was  worrying  a  tough  chip  of  beef  between  her  white 
teeth. 

Dorothy  giggled  hysterically,  while  John  Lawton  ex- 
claimed :  "  Sybil,  are  you  absolutely  without  rever- 
ence?" 

"  Why,  papa,"  replied  the  indomitable  Sybil,  "  I'm 
sure  the  old  people  are  better  off  under  the  piano  than 
they  would  have  been  lying  with  the  tables  and  chairs 
in  the  grass  out  there,  a  temptation  to  Lena's  fairy 
footsteps.  We'll  hang  the  old  people  up  as  soon  as  we 

8 


The  Lawtons  Arrive 

finish  our  luncheon.  They  had  better  stay  in  this 
room — don't  you  think  so,  mamma  ?  "  And  Mrs.  Law- 
ton  again  took  up  the  proffered  thread  of  direction 
and  never  laid  it  down  till  she  at  the  same  moment 
laid  her  head  upon  her  pillow. 

After  that  picnicky  luncheon  Mr.  Lawton  betook 
himself  to  the  village  to  hunt  up  the  butcher,  the  baker, 
and,  if  not  the  candle-stick  maker,  at  least  his  successor, 
the  gas  man.  Firmly  rejecting  the  piece  of  string  Mrs. 
Lawton  wished  to  tie  about  his  thumb  as  an  assistance 
to  his  somewhat  unreliable  memory,  he  rearranged  his 
thin  locks  with  the  aid  of  a  pocket-comb,  tightly  but- 
toned his  well-fitting,  seedy  old  coat,  and  with  a  warm 
young  kiss  on  either  cheek  sallied  forth,  pursued  by  his 
wife's  warning  cry :  "  Candles — candles !  Now,  John, 
no  matter  what  they  promise  at  the  gas-store,  gas- 
house — er — er,  I  mean  office — don't  I,  girls  ?  Oh,  well, 
no  matter  what  anyone  promises,  anywhere,  do  you 
buy  some  candles  for  fear  of  accidents,  for  light  we 
must  have !  Food  for  to-morrow  is  desirable,  but  light 
for  to-night  is  an  absolute  necessity !  So  get  candles, 

for  fear " — then,  as  John  disappeared,  "  Do  you 

suppose  your  father  understood  ? "  she  asked,  anx- 
iously. 

"  Why — er !  why — er !  "  hesitated  Sybil,  as  she 
gently  rubbed  the  canvas  that  preserved  Grandmamma 
Bassett's  antique  prettiness :  "  Dorothy — what  is  the 
condition  of  papa's  intelligence  at  present  ?  " 

But  Dorothy,  passing  an  armful  of  bed  linen  to  the 
waiting  Lena,  soothingly  declared :  "  It's  no  fault  of 
yours,  mamma  dear,  if  he  does  not  understand — I'm 

9 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

sure  you  tried  hard  enough,"  and  Mrs.  Lawton,  brid- 
ling and  important,  at  once  followed  Lena  upstairs  to 
make  things  interesting  for  that  handmaiden.  As  soon 
as  they  were  alone  the  girls  looked  ruefully  at  each 
other,  and  Dorothy  exclaimed :  "  Fancy  sending  papa 
on  such  an  errand !  " 

"  Yes,"  groaned  Sybil,  "  it  is  funny — and  oh,  if  he 
could  only  throw  a  little  light  on  the  family  finances, 
I'd  forgive  him  if  we  all  lay  in  total  darkness  to-night. 
Dorrie!  Dorrie!  what  are  we  coming  to?  Is  not  this 
an  awful  place  ?  I  would  not  say  a  word  against  it  be- 
fore poor  papa — he  seems  so  proud  of  his  bargain. 
But,  Dorrie,  we'll  all  find  our  teeth  rattling  like  casta- 
nets some  fine  morning,  and  chills  mean  quinine,  and 
quinine  means  money — money !  " 

Dorothy  sat  down  dejectedly  on  a  step  of  the  ladder 
and  pushed  her  sunny  brown  hair  back  from  her  damp 
forehead.  "  Yes — it  is  dreadful !  We  must  put  mamma 
and  papa  in  the  driest  room  and  see  what  the  cellar  is 
like,  and  perhaps  we  may  find  some  boy  about  who  will 
cut  away  some  of  those  branches  and  let  a  little  sunlight 
in  on  this  window  that  I  see  mamma  has  marked  for  her 
own.  A  little  shaking  and  shivering  won't  matter  so 
much  for  us,  Sybil.  We  are  young  and  can  stand  it, 
but  papa  is  not  strong  and  fever  would  simply  eat  him 
up,  poor  dear !  " 

Sybil  bent  suddenly,  and,  kissing  her  sister's  cheek : 
"  You're  a  patient  little  soul,  Dorrie,"  she  said,  "  but  I 
tell  you  I  shall  go  mad  presently  over  this  never-end- 
ing mending  and  turning  and  dyeing,  this  wearing  of 
each  other's  clothes,  this  mad  effort  to  keep  up  appear- 

10 


The  Lawtons  Arrive 

ances !    Why  can't  we  do  something  as  other  girls  do 
— who  help  themselves  ?  " 

"  Ah,  but  mamma !  "  interposed  Dorothy.  "  She 
would  never  consent.  We  are  ladies,  you  know,  dear, 
and " 

"  Idiots !  "  savagely  completed  Sybil,  "  who  don't 
know  how  to  do  one  single  thing  well.  I  can  paint — 
a  little;  you  can  play — a  little.  We  both  can  sing — a 
little,  and  we  both  can  dance  perfectly !  " 
,  And  she  flung  her  arm  about  Dorothy's  slim  waist 
and  together  they  went  waltzing  out  into  the  old  hall, 
their  light,  swaying  figures  skimming  swallow-like 
over  the  sunken  porch  and  out  into  the  sunshine,  where 
presently  a  great  brown  root  tripped  them  up,  and  they 
fell,  a  laughing  heap,  on  the  moss.  Next  instant  two 
excited  voices  were  crying :  "  Violets !  Oh,  real  vio- 
lets !  "  And  with  fingers  trembling  with  haste,  and  eyes 
wide  with  delight,  they  gathered  the  timid  little  hooded 
darlings  of  the  spring,  forgetting  their  poverty,  their 
makeshifts,  and  their  anxieties,  as  God  meant  young 
things  should  forget  at  times,  and  only  remembering 
that  they  were  sisters,  who  loved  each  other  and  had 
found  out  there  under  the  sky  their  first  bed  of  sweet 
wild  violets. 


II 


CHAPTER   II 

A   POWERFUL   NEIGHBOR 

It  was  near  the  end  of  the  week.  Already  Woods- 
edge  seemed  to  have  wakened,  drawn  a  long  breath, 
and  assumed  that  pleasant  expression  so  earnestly 
sought  for  by  generations  of  photographers.  In  fact, 
the  old  house  had  taken  on  a  homelike  look,  and  both 
the  girls  had  been  sewing  at  break-needle  speed  trying 
to  finish  some  muslin  curtains  that  they  wished  to  have 
put  up  in  their  own  room  before  Sunday,  as  those  win- 
dows were  in  full  view  of  Broadway  drivers,  and  they 
felt  that  propriety  demanded  muslin  curtains  as  well 
as  shades.  And  this,  according  to  Lena,  was  "  Friday 
alretty,"  so  together  they  were  driving  Dick,  the 
canary,  nearly  wild  by  singing  against  him  over  their 
work,  when  John  Lawton,  wearing  an  ancient  alpaca 
coat  and  a  mournful  and  repentant  straw  hat,  appeared 
upon  the  porch  clasping  a  left  finger  in  a  very  bloody 
right  hand;  remarking,  with  his  usual  moderation  of 
speech :  "  I  think  I  have  got  a  cut." 

"  Do  you,  indeed  ?  "  Sybil  snapped,  as  she  rushed 
for  an  old  handkerchief.  "  I  suppose  a  severed  artery 
would  about  convince  you  of  the  fact !  Bring  me  a  bit 
of  thread,  Dorrie!  Oh,  you  white- faced  goose,  that 
screech  of  yours  has  brought  mamma !  "  And  mamma 

12 


A  Powerful  Neighbor 

was  followed  by  the  ever- faithful  Lena.  And  so  it  hap- 
pened that  Mr.  Lawton's  injured  finger  drew  to  his 
service  four  devoted  women.  Sybil,  first  pouring  some 
fair  water  over  the  cut,  proceeded  to  bandage  it  with  a 
bit  of  old  linen.  Dorothy,  keeping  her  face  averted, 
held  out  a  spool  of  white  silk.  Lena,  with  a  trail  of  re- 
jected cobweb  in  one  hand  and  an  enormous  pair  of 
shears  in  the  other,  waited  to  cut  the  thread  off ;  while 
Mrs.  Lawton,  with  eye-glasses  on  nose,  superintended 
Sybil's  efforts  and  sagely  advised  her  that  if  she  wound 
the  bandage  too  tight  it  would  stop  circulation,  and  if 
it  were  too  loose  it  would  come  off,  and 

"  And  if  I  should  get  it  just  right,  what  would  hap- 
pen, mamma  ?  "  meekly  questioned  the  girl. 

"  Why — why — er,"  confusedly  stammered  Mrs. 
Lawton,  "  why — really  I " 

"Your  mother  can't  conceive  the  idea  of  anything 
being  just  right,  this  side  of  our  heavenly  home,  my 
dear,"  gravely  remarked  her  husband,  which  was  un- 
expected, not  to  say  ungrateful. 

"  John !  "  sternly  spoke  the  lady,  "  instead  of  jeering 
at  the  wife  of  your  bosom  in  the  presence  of  your  chil- 
dren  " 

"  There,  mamma  washes  her  hands  of  us,  you  see, 
Dorrie,"  interposed  Sybil;  but  Mrs.  Lawton  went 
straight  on : 

"  — you  would  do  well,  first,  to  remember  that 
though  I  have  lost  my  illusions,  I  have  not  neglected 
my  religious  duties,  and  next  to  explain  what  you 
were  about  to  get  a  cut  shaped  like  that  ?  " 

"  O  observant  mamma !  "  laughed  Sybil,  while  Lena 

13 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

remarked,  with  unconscious  impertinence :  "  I  tink  dot 
cut  make  himself  mit  a  sickle  alretty.  Ain't  dot  so,  my 
Herr  Mister?" 

"  Oh,  papa,"  cried  both  girls,  "  you  were  never  try- 
ing to  cut  the  grass  yourself,  were  you  ?  " 

"  Why  not?  "  asked  the  old  gentleman.  "  It  needs 
it  badly,  and  it  will  be  a  bit  of  change  saved  if  I  can  do 
it  myself." 

"  Nein  !  nein !  "  cried  Lena,  indignantly.  "  I  make 
mit  de  sickles  myself  by  and  bye,  ven  I  got  of  de  times. 
I  vork  youst  so  well  as  any  mans  on  de  grass !  Dot  is 
not  for  you,  my  Herr  Mister ;  dot  is  for  me.  Und  you 
don't  see  alretty  yet  vat  I  got  in  dose  gartens.  You 
come  with  me,  Miss  Ladies — I  show !  "  and  all  one 
broad,  flat  laugh,  she  led  Sybil  and  Dorothy  to  the  rear 
of  the  house,  and  proudly  pointed  to  a  freshly  dug  gar- 
den bed. 

"  Why !  "  cried  they,  "  who  did  it?  "  and  "  Oh,  Lena, 
did  you  make  a  bargain  beforehand  ?  "  asked  the  sadly 
experienced  young  Dorothy. 

But  Lena  laughed  and  laughed  and  pounded  her 
knee  so  vigorously  that  the  girls  fairly  winced  at  sight 
of  the  blows.  Then  joyously,  if  slangily,  she  ex- 
plained :  "  Dot  mash-man,  he  do  dot  diggins — youst 
for  me.  Und  he  say  he  do  more  to-morrow.  Und 
Sunday  I  rake  'em  fine,  dot  bed,  und  put  in  der  seeds, 
und  behold,  der  vill  be  a  garten  one  of  dose  days. 
Vat  you  tink,  eh  ?  " 

Both  the  girls  had  very  bright  eyes.  They  looked 
at  each  other.  Sybil  started  to  unfasten  the  pretty  belt 
she  wore,  but  Dorothy  shook  her  head  warningly,  then 


A  Powerful  Neighbor 

put  her  hand  up  and  drew  from  her  hair  a  little  side- 
comb. 

"  Wait !  "  cried  Sybil,  and  she  took  out  one  of  hers, 
and  with  much  laughter  saw  Lena  proudly  place  the 
combs  in  her  own  flaxen  locks;  and  as  the  maid  re- 
turned to  her  endless  work,  Sybil  exclaimed :  "  Wha,t  a 
nature !  what  a  good-hearted  creature !  " 

"  And  yet,"  laughed  Dorothy,  "  how  mercenary  in 
her  treatment  of  her  '  mash-man  ' !  Oh,  Sybil,  where 
do  you  suppose  she  got  that  word  ?  Poor  thing,  I  did 
not  dare  let  you  give  her  the  belt,  dear,  because  we 
have  but  the  one  between  us,  just  now.  But  here  is 
the  other  comb — yes,  take  it!  Your  hair  is  heavier 
than  mine.  Oh,  Sybil,  darling  girl,  don't,  oh,  don't 
cry !  Things  will  come  right,  somehow — only  wait !  " 

"  I  can't !  I— I  won't !  "cried  Sybil.  "  The  shame, 
the  mortification  of  accepting  help  from  that  poor, 
overworked  little  German  girl,  who  coquets  with  a 
laborer  for  our  benefit — oh,  it  sickens  one!  Dorrie, 
I'm  going  to  tell  papa,  right  out,  straight  and  plain, 
that  I'm  going  on  the  stage!  There — I  can  at  least 
earn  my  own  living,  if  I  can't  win  fame.  I  know  he  will 
be  terribly  upset,  but  I'll  say — that " 

"  Suppose,"  gently  suggested  the  practical  Dorothy, 
"  that  we  finish  the  curtains,  Sybil  dear,  and  you  can 
tell  me  all  about  what  you  intend  saying  to  papa  while 
we  sew ! " 

When,  twenty-five  years  ago,  "  all  in  the  merry 
month  of  May,"  John  Lawton  had  married  Letitia  Bas- 
sett,  there  had  not  been  wanting  at  the  wedding-feast 
one  or  two  of  those  distant  relatives  who  generally 

15 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

make  such  unwelcome  guests;  since  not  near  enough 
to  be  known  and  loved,  yet  not  distant  enough  to  be 
ignored,  they  are  very  apt  to  amuse  themselves  by 
keeping  tab  on  the  bride's  birthdays  and  the  groom's 
debts,  while  with  suspicious  glances  they  closely  search 
the  wedding  gifts  for  something  plated.  Grandaunt 
Lucilla  and  old  James  Baker,  with  blood  chilled  against 
the  kindly  influence  of  sparkling  champagne  or  rare 
good  sherry,  had  that  day  peered  into  the  future  with 
wise  old  eyes,  and,  foreseeing,  had  mumblingly  fore- 
told the  financial  ruin  that  was  now  full  upon  John 
Lawton.  Of  those  who  heard  the  croaking  of  the  an- 
cient pair  the  most  indignant  had  been  Nellie  Douglass 
— bridesmaid  and  intimate  of  Letitia  Lawton.  She 
cried :  "  Shame,"  to  Grandaunt  Lucilla,  "  for  prophesy- 
ing evil  upon  one  of  her  own  blood,  and  the  very  hand- 
somest bride  the  Bassetts  had  ever  led  to  altar-rail  and 
expectant  groom.  But  then,  it  was  just  crass  envy  and 
malice  that  moved  her,  unmarried  at  seventy-five,  to 
such  wicked  speech — ruin  indeed !  "  And  she  tossed 
her  flower-wreathed  head,  as  she  glanced  about  at  the 
lavish  decorations,  at  the  newly  added  shelf,  circling 
the  library  walls,  to  accommodate  the  many  late-coming 
wedding  gifts :  "  Only — only,  she  wished  now,  more 
than  ever,  that  Letitia  had  not  been  a  May  bride,  and 
had  not  wound  all  those  lovely  pearls  around  her  slen- 
der throat !  What  on  earth  had  made  her  so  reckless  ? 
it  was  risky  enough  to  say  '  Yes,'  without  winding  your- 
self up  in  pearls  and  saying  it  in  May !  " 

But  certain  men  who  heard  the  prophesy  looked  over 
at  the  wealthy  bridegroom,  and,  noting  the  dimpled, 

16 


A   Powerful  Neighbor 

pointed  chin,  the  wide-apart  blue  eyes,  with  their  ab- 
sent expression,  they  thought  of  the  far-away  coffee 
plantations  that  had  come  with  the  fortune  they  had 
already  made  into  his  helpless  looking  hands,  and 
shook  their  heads,  fearing  old  man  Baker's  saying 
might  yet  come  true.  Lavvton  had  come  to  New  York 
on  a  matter  of  business  connected  with  those  planta- 
tions, and,  instead  of  devoting  himself  to  that  and  re- 
turning at  once,  he  fell  head  over  heels  in  love  and 
straightway  married,  and  as  his  bride  was  of  a  very 
fair  complexion  and  dreaded  the  sun,  and  was  very 
fond  of  society  and  dreaded  loneliness,  she  simply 
could  not  go  to  South  America  with  him ;  and  when 
once  he  bravely  tried  to  go  alone  back  to  his  duty,  she 
indulged  in  such  an  hysterical  outburst  of  temper  and 
grief  combined  as  did  herself  serious  injury  at  the  time, 
and  ended  at  once  and  forever  his  personal  manage- 
ment of  the  plantations. 

They  were  both  outrageously  extravagant — not  in  a 
gross,  flaunting  way,  desiring  the  pained  humiliation 
of  those  less  fortunate  than  themselves,  but  in  a  way 
that  showed  an  almost  childish  ignorance  of  the  value 
of  money.  John  Lawton,  Sr.,  had  been  a  shrewd,  far- 
sighted,  honorable  man,  a  hard  worker,  who  held  fast 
to  what  he  earned  until  it  could  earn  too.  Strong  and 
self-denying,  he  yet  fathered  a  son  who  seemed  to  have 
been  born  for  the  express  purpose  of  being  fleeced. 
Honest,  honorable,  temperate,  moral,  without  a  single 
vice,  possessing  most  of  the  virtues,  he  was  neverthe- 
less that  piteous  creature — the  well-intentioned  but  un- 
successful man. 

17 


A  Pasteboard   Crown 

After  the  plantations  had  gently  slipped  away  from 
him  he  did  not  attempt  to  retrench.  He  loved  his  wife ; 
he  had  not  the  heart  to  deny  her  anything ;  also  he  re- 
membered the  hysterical  outburst  and  a  tiny,  tiny  little 
grave,  and  he — well,  he  dared  not  suggest  even  a  slight 
change  in  their  style  of  living,  but  he  did  decide  that 
something  must  be  found  to  take  the  place  of  the 
money-yielding  coffee  plantations.  Hence  it  followed 
that  for  some  years  there  were  few  salted  mines, 
whether  of  gold  or  silver;  few  gushing  oil-wells,  lo- 
cated miles  outside  of  the  oil  belt ;  few  Eden-like  land- 
booms  in  Southern  swamps,  that  had  not  found  in  John 
Lawton  an  eager  purchaser  of  shares.  Some  fine 
corner  lots  in  the  business  centre  of  a  Western  city — 
built  entirely  on  paper — were  his  last,  large,  losing  in- 
vestment. After  that  he  dribbled  away  the  few  dol- 
lars left  to  him  in  helping  to  secure  patents  for  such 
useless  inventions  as  an  ink-well  with  automatic  cover 
that  was  meant  to  keep  the  ink  from  evaporating,  but 
failed  to  do  it.  A  dish-washing  machine  looked  like  a 
winner,  until  he  found  it  was  apt  suddenly  to  go  wrong 
and  crush  more  dishes  in  a  moment  than  the  most  im- 
petuous Bridget  would  destroy  in  a  week.  And  a  cow- 
milker  had  lately  absorbed  the  money  that  should  have 
gone  for  walking  boots.  Each  time  he  was  deceived 
he  was  as  greatly  surprised  as  he  had  been  on  the  first 
occasion ;  then,  sadly  gathering  up  his  worthless  shares, 
he  tied  them  neatly  together  with  pink  tape,  labelled 
them,  laid  them  aside — and  was  ready  to  be  taken  in 
again.  In  all  these  foolish  investments  he  was  actuated 
solely  by  love  for  his  family.  There  was  no  taint  of  self- 

18 


A  Powerful  Neighbor 

ishness  underlying  his  desire  to  regain  a  lost  fortune. 
He  suffered  twice  to  their  once,  since  he  felt  every  one 
of  their  privations  in  addition  to  his  own.  In  his  slow 
way  he  had  come  to  understand  that  his  weakness  had 
brought  about  the  family's  downfall.  He  had  not  been 
strong  enough  to  hold  what  he  had  once  possessed,  and 
even  when  he  knew  they  were  rushing  to  destruction, 
he  had  not  been  strong  enough  to  put  the  brakes  down 
hard.  He  said  little — almost  nothing;  but  there  were 
times  when  his  wife  thought  him  sleeping  when  he  sat 
with  closed  eyes  thanking  God  for  that  tiny  grave 
which  held  his  only  son,  for  had  he  lived  a  weakling 
like  himself  he  might  have  carried  the  good  old  name 
down  to  no  one  knows  what  depths ;  while  the  girls, 
such  good  girls,  such  pretty  girls  they  were,  would 
doubtless  marry  some  time,  and  so  the  name  would 
pass,  would  be  forgotten ;  and  the  absent  look  would  be 
very  marked,  when  his  pale  blue  eyes  opened  again. 
The  poor,  tender-hearted,  gullible  old  gentleman! 

That  Grandaunt  Lucilla,  who  at  their  wedding  feast 
had  prophesied  ruin  within  twenty  years  for  the  Law- 
tons,  had  lived  long  enough  to  see  the  seeds  of  ex- 
travagance sown  by  them  take  root,  develop  stalk  and 
stem,  and  blossom  forth  into  many  mortgages — for 
stranger  hands  to  gather;  so,  leaving  her  savings  to 
that  "  tinkling  cymbal  of  humanity,"  as  she  called  her 
grandniece,  Letitia  Lawton,  she  first  secured  the  legacy 
with  so  many  legal  knots  and  seals  and  witnesses  and 
things,  that  it  simply  could  not  be  squandered  by  one 
Lawton,  nor  invested  by  the  other ;  and  now  it  was  to 
that  small  inheritance  that  they  clung  for  their  lives. 

19 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

The  family's  position  was  most  painful,  but  the  girls 
suffered  most.  In  the  past  John  and  Letitia  had  danced 
long  and  merrily,  so  it  was  but  fair  that  they  should 
now  "  pay  the  piper,"  but  Sybil  and  Dorothy,  for  all 
their  warm  young  blood  and  springy  feet,  danced  not, 
for  their  hands  were  empty,  and  there  was  no  one  to 
"  pay  the  piper  "  for  them.  Poor  things,  they  could  re- 
member when  their  fine  feathers  had  made  them  very 
fine  little  birds,  indeed;  when  they  had  taken  their 
walks  abroad  under  the  care  of  a  voluble  French  nurse. 
They  could  remember,  too,  the  day  their  pretty,  ever- 
talkative  mamma  had  refused  to  go  to  church  with  but 
one  man  on  the  carriage  box.  Then  there  had  come  a 
time  when  there  was  no  man  and  no  carriage  and  no 
French  maid.  Then  flittings  followed,  and  after  each 
one  fewer  friends  had  followed  them,  and  the  last  flit- 
ting had  brought  them  here,  to  the  old  White  house,  or 
to  Woodsedge,  as  Mrs.  Lawton  sternly  commanded  all 
to  call  it;  and  no  old  friends  seemed  likely  to  follow 
them  out  of  the  land  of  plenty,  while  it  was  too  soon 
yet  to  know  whether  they  would  find  new  friends  in 
the  desert.  So  they  could  only  make  the  best  appear- 
ance possible  and  rush  up  their  bed-room  curtains.  And 
as  they  worked,  Sybil,  the  impetuous,  with  flushing 
cheeks,  told  Dorothy,  who  steadily  turned-down  and 
hemmed,  how  impossible  it  was  for  her  to  do  anything 
but  act;  how  sure  she  was  she  could  act;  how  clearly 
she  was  going  to  put  the  case  before  papa.  And  then 
Dorothy  wished  to  know  how  Sybil  was  going  to  get 
into  a  theatre — a  really  nice  theatre  was  not  so  easily 
entered.  For  herself,  she  would  rather  try  to  write — 

20 


A  Powerful  Neighbor 

then  you  could  send  your  manuscript  to  the  publishers 
and  not  go  outside  of  your  own  home — "  That  is,"  she 
added,  reluctantly,  "  if — you  have  plenty  of  stamps." 

And  just  then  John  Lawton  lowered  the  paper  he 
had  been  reading,  as  he  sat  at  the  far  end  of  the  porch, 
and  asked :  "  Girls,  have  you  noticed  a  young  woman 
who  rides  past  here  on  horseback  evenings,  generally 
without  a  groom  ?  " 

"  Yes !  "  cried  the  girls.  "  Sometimes  she  comes 
scrambling  down  that  rocky  lane  below  us,"  said  Sybil, 
"  but  she  never  does  that  on  the  big  chestnut — he'd 
break  his  legs." 

"  Nice  horse,  that,"  commented  Mr.  Lawton.  "  But 
do  you  know  who  she  is  ?  " 

"  No,  papa,  do  you  ?  "  asked  Dorothy,  turning  the 
last  hem. 

"  Y — e — s,"  was  the  slow  answer.  "  I  was  looking  at 
the  swelling  on  the  leg  of  that  black  police-horse  last 
night,  and  I  told  him — the  policeman,  I  mean — that  a 
bandage  was  needed,  and  just  then  along  came  the 
young  woman,  riding  a  small  bay  at  almost  a  dead  run. 
I  thought  at  first  there  was  work  for  the  policeman  to 
do,  but  the  rider  touched  her  cap  as  she  rushed  past,  and 
the  officer  guessed  my  thought,  for  he  said :  *  No ; 
that  ain't  no  runaway !  I  suspect  the  bay's  been  a  bit 
unruly;  anyway,  she  never  rides  at  such  a  spanking 
gait  as  that  except  in  the  cool  of  the  evening  and  when 
the  roads  are  quiet/  He  seemed  to  know  the  lady  so 
well  that  I  asked  if  she  lived  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
he  said :  '  Why,  good  Lord !  Don't  you  know  who  she 
is  ?  Why,  that's  Claire  Morrell,  the  actress,'  " 

21 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

With  a  cry  Sybil  sprang  to  her  feet,  wide-eyed  and 
palpitating  with  excitement,  while  Dorothy  exclaimed, 
reproachfully :  "  Oh,  papa,  why  did  you  not  tell  us  be- 
fore ?  Where  does  she  live  ?  Now  don't  say  you  don't 
know  and  so  reduce  us  to  the  necessity  of  interviewing 
the  policeman  for  ourselves !  " 

Mr.  Lawton  gently  pinched  his  bandaged  finger,  to 
see  how  much  it  was  hurt,  before  answering:  "  Miss 
Morrell,  who  is  Mrs.  Barton  in  private  life,  you  know, 
lives  as  the  crow  flies  exactly  opposite  us  on  Riverdale 
Avenue,  at  a  place  called  The  Beeches." 

"  Oh !  oh !  "  cried  Dorothy.  "  Let's  go  and  tell 
mamma  whom  she  has  for  a  neighbor — she  will  be  so 
interested !  She  used  to  be  quite  proud  of  living  near 
a  former  residence  of  Miss  Kemble,  the  English 
actress.  Come,  Sybil  dear — why,  are  you  asleep  ?  " 
For  her  sister  had  been  standing,  staring  dumbly  into 
space.  Now  she  leaned  forward  and  whispered,  rap- 
idly : 

"  Doric !  Doric !  Here  is  the  answer  to  your  ques- 
tion, and  here  is  my  one  chance!  This  woman  has 
power  to  help  me,  and  she  shall  use  it — yes,  if  I  have 
to  go  upon  my  knees  to  her !  Her  hand  shall  open  to 
me  the  stage-door  of  the  theatre !  " 


22 


CHAPTER  III 

SHOPPING   UNDER  DIFFICULTIES 

Early  in  their  second  week  at  Woodsedge  it  became 
evident  that  someone  would  have  to  go  to  the  city  to 
do  some  very  necessary  shopping,  and  a  great  gloom 
descended  and  enwrapped  the  Lawtons  in  consequence. 
The  ancient  legend  says  that  the  prospect  of  a  shopping 
expedition  ever  fills  the  female  soul  with  wild,  unrea- 
soning joy,  which  is  a  too  general  and  too  positive  pre- 
diction. But  that  is  the  trouble  with  most  legends, 
composed  as  they  are  of  a  little  truth,  much  imagina- 
tion, and  more  sweeping  assertion  ;  and  I  have  no  doubt 
this  last  irritating  quality  has  caused  the  destruction  of 
many  a  legend  that  was  both  beautiful  and  poetic. 
Now,  fable  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding,  shopping 
is  not  an  unalloyed  joy — always  fatiguing — often  a 
positive  penance.  It  is  sometimes  a  pleasure,  and  on 
rare  occasions  it  may  become  an  absolute  delight,  say, 
for  instance,  when  a  woman  is  young  and  pretty  and 
has  a  full  purse.  The  knowledge  of  her  own  beauty 
and  her  ability  to  adorn  it  will  make  the  selecting,  the 
choosing,  the  trying,  the  adapting,  the  decision,  the 
retraction,  the  fluttering,  and  the  hesitating — all  de- 
lightful. Or  when  a  woman  who  has  herself  passed 

23 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

the  period  of  coquettish  dressing  shops  from  a  full 
purse  for  those  she  loves,  whose  tastes  and  desires  she 
knows  perfectly,  with  what  beaming  eyes  she  will 
hover  over  the  best,  the  rarest,  comparing,  selecting 
without  a  thought  of  price,  only  seeking  beauty  and 
quality — such  shopping  is  unqualified  pleasure. 

But  the  gates  of  this  shopping  Paradise  were  closed 
against  the  Lawtons,  and  Sybil  and  Dorothy,  like  two 
made-over,  rebound,  cotton-backed  little  Peris,  stood 
and  wept  as  they  shook  vainly  at  the  bars.  Mr.  Law- 
ton  had  in  all  good  faith  offered  to  go  to  the  city  and 
do  their  errands  for  them,  but  his  services  had  been 
promptly  declined,  though  with  many  qualifying  pats 
and  strokes  from  Sybil  and  a  violet  boutonniere  from 
Dorothy,  who  had  remarked,  as  she  tied  it  with  a  blade 
of  grass :  "  Poor  papa — he  would  come  home  with 
barely  half  the  list  filled." 

"  Worse  than  that,"  said  Sybil.  "  Poor  papa  would 
have  come  home  plucked  bare  to  his  innocent  old 
breast." 

"  Yes !  "  sighed  Dorothy,  "  someone  would  surely 
swindle  him  out  of  part  of  his  money,  if  he  went  down 
by  his  tempting  old  self." 

It  was  very  difficult  for  the  sisters  to  go  out  together, 
because  of  the  lack  of  appropriate  clothing,  yet  neither 
one  wished  to  have  Mrs.  Lawton  as  a  shopping  com- 
panion. Not  that  they  were  lacking  in  affection  for 
their  mother — far  from  it ;  but,  truth  to  tell,  she  was  a 
very  silly  old  person,  who,  like  a  certain  royal  house  of 
France,  never  learned  anything  and  never  forgot  any- 
thing ;  and  when  she  walked  through  the  shopping  dis- 


Shopping  Under  Difficulties 

trict  with  her  girls,  she  invariably  made  them  wish 
they  had  never  been  born.  She  had  such  a  dreadful 
habit  of  stopping  before  some  show  window  and  re- 
marking, in  a  high  shrill  voice :  "  Yes,  that's  fairly 
good,  but  it's  not  to  be  compared  with  what  I  had 
when,"  etc.,  etc.  Or  she  would  sit  at  a  counter,  and, 
with  eyeglasses  on  nose,  carefully  examine  forty-cent 
pairs  of  cotton  stockings,  describing  meantime  to  the 
clerk  the  exact  style  of  silk  stockings  she  used  to  wear 
years  before,  closing  the  incident  with  a  condescend- 
ing :  "  You  may  give  me  three  pairs  of  these — though, 
to  confess  the  truth,  my  foot  has  never  yet  become 
accustomed  to  such  coarse  web."  Small  wonder  the 
girls  did  not  care  to  shop  with  their  mamma. 

Therefore,  they  had  spent  an  entire  day  making  the 
preparations  that  were  necessary  if  they  were  to  go  to 
the  city  together.  Dorothy  had  pulled  apart  a  black 
velvet  bow  from  an  old  hat,  steamed  it  free  of  wrinkles, 
and  had  made  a  fairly  decent  belt,  and  hours  had  gone 
to  the  minute  stitching  of  her  gloves;  while  Sybil's 
wrath  had  been  aroused  by  the  necessity  of  inking  her 
purplish  boot  heels. 

"  No  other  shoes  but  mine  go  like  that,"  she  grum- 
bled. "  One  would  suppose  my  skirts  had  teeth  to 
gnaw  my  heels,"  and  at  Dorothy's  quick  laughter  Sybil 
attacked  her  with  her  inky  bit  of  cotton,  and  their  wild 
struggle  so  aroused  Yellow  Dick  that  he  instantly  as- 
sumed the  horrid  front  of  war — quivering  his  drooping 
wings,  extending  his  neck,  with  wee  beak  open  an 
eighth  of  an  inch  wide,  and  fierce  crest  rising  and  low- 
ering rapidly.  He  felt  himself  to  be  a  terrifying  ob- 

25 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

ject,  and  nothing  short  of  three  fat  hemp  seeds,  held 
to  him  between  the  lovely  lips  of  Sybil  could  induce  him 
to  accept  peace. 

"  What  a  quick-tempered  little  wretch  Dick  has  be- 
come of  late,"  said  Dorothy. 

"  Oh,  well — never  mind  his  small  tantrums,  so  long 
as  he  doesn't  begin  to  tell  about  what  a  splendid  cage 
he  used  to  have." 

"  He  can't,"  laughed  Dorothy,  "  for  he  was  hatched 
as  well  as  brought  up  in  this  old  cage — he  doesn't  know 
any  other." 

"  Thank  Heaven  for  that !  "  responded  Sybil,  who 
then  ran  to  the  window,  crying : 

"  There  she  goes,  Dorrie !  "  and  her  sister  under- 
stood at  once  that  "she  "  was  that  actress-neighbor  of 
whom  Sybil  dreamed  at  night  and  talked  by  day.  For 
of  late  the  girl's  desire  to  go  upon  the  stage  had  de- 
veloped into  a  passion.  Ardent,  romantic,  and  imagi- 
native as  she  was,  the  sweetness  of  a  life  of  ease  and 
pleasure  would  probably  have  smothered  the  ambition 
that  sharp  necessity  was  now  rapidly  developing.  For 
it  is  the  almost  sterile  soil  of  poverty  that  oftenest  pro- 
duces the  cactus-like  plant  of  Ambition,  whose  splendid 
and  dazzling  flowers  are,  alas,  so  often  without  per- 
fume. 

And  now  Dorothy  had  John  Strange  Winter  and 
The  Duchess  quite  to  herself  evenings,  while  Sybil 
thumbed  the  family  Shakspere — a  dreadful  edition 
of  the  fifties,  all  aflaunt  with  gilt  edges  and  gilt  letter- 
ing on  the  outside,  and  sprinkled  through  with  most 
harrowing  pictures  and  libellous  and  defamatory  por- 

26 


Shopping  Under  Difficulties 

traits  of  Forrest,  Cushman,  and  the  rest — for  the  steel 
engraver  too  "  loveth  a  shining  mark." 

Looking  once  at  a  picture  of  the  "  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor " — a  blowsy,  frowsy,  dreadfully  decollete 
couple — Dorothy  had  deprecatingly  exclaimed :  "  Oh, 
Syb,  dear !  You  won't  ever  have  to  look  like  that,  will 
you,  if  you  become  an  actress  ?  " 

"  Good  heavens,  no !  Don't  be  such  a  goose,  Dorrie ! 
Can't  you  see  these  are  not  actresses  at  all  ?  They  are 
just  imaginary  pictures  of  Mrs.  Ford  and  Mrs.  Page, 
drawn  by  some  stupid,  coarse-minded  man !  " 

And  Dorrie,  properly  snubbed,  went  back  to  "  Molly 
Bawn,"  and  left  Sybil  to  rumple  her  hair  and  grow  very 
red-cheeked  over  her  study  of  Juliet — for  where  is  the 
stage-struck  girl  who  begins  with  any  lesser  character  ? 
Then,  while  they  brushed  their  hair  and  plaited  it  a  la 
Chinoise  for  the  night,  Sybil  laid  before  her  sister  some 
wildly  impossible  plan  for  making  the  immediate  ac- 
quaintance of  Claire  Morrell,  and  Dorothy  listened  to 
her  continual  harping  on  that  one  string  with  a  gentle 
patience  that  was  wonderful  in  one  so  young.  But 
Dorrie  had  a  firm  faith  in  God's  promise  to  His  people 
— His  people  being,  in  her  eyes,  those  who  loved  Him ; 
and  from  that  faith  came  the  patience  that  was  her 
strength,  and  that  often  supported  older  members  of 
the  family  through  trying  hours. 

All  being  in  readiness,  it  did  not  take  long  for  the 
girls  to  dress  for  breakfast  and  for  an  early  start  city- 
ward. So,  carrying  down  their  hats  and  gloves  and 
the  sunshade  they  had  borrowed  over  night  from  Mrs. 
Lawton,  they  came  laughing  into  the  dining-room,  to 

27 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

find  that  lady  trussed  up  in  her  street  gown,  instead  of 
the  usual  breakfast  jacket,  and  heard  her  sharply  an- 
nounce :  "  I,  too,  am  going  to  the  city  this  morning !  " 

"  W — why,  mamma !  "  faltered  both  girls,  and  then 
Dorothy  turned  her  blue  eyes  away,  that  the  rising  tears 
might  not  be  seen. 

"  But — but  I  thought  everything  was  all  settled  last 
night  ?  "  quavered  Sybil. 

"  I  can't  help  last  night ! "  snapped  Mrs.  Lawton. 
"  This  is  to-day,  and  I've  got  to  go  down  town.  Time 
was  when  I  had  not  to  account  for  every  movement  to 
my  own  children — when  my  husband  would  have  risen 
in  his  place  and  forbidden  such  a  humiliating  ac- 
tion  " 

Now  to  be  just,  one  must  admit  that,  though  very 
garrulous,  Letitia  Lawton  was  not  an  ill-tempered 
woman,  and  this  unusual  sharpness  of  tone  and  word 
brought  utter  amazement  into  the  eyes  of  her  daugh- 
ters. John  Lawton's  slippered  feet  shifted  uneasily  be- 
neath the  table :  "  I'm  afraid  your  coffee  will  grow  cold, 
my  dear !  "  he  murmured. 

Sybil  ventured  to  suggest  that  the  shopping  list, 
though  long,  was  simple  enough  for  a  child  to  manage 
successfully,  and  just  then  both  girls  became  aware  of 
something  unusual  in  their  mother's  appearance — of  a 
sort  of  toning  down — a — a  lessening  of  color — a — not 
a  pallor  exactly,  but  a — why  ?  As  they  turned  troubled, 
bewildered  eyes  toward  each  other,  Lena,  who  always 
left  them  to  wait  upon  themselves  at  breakfast,  while 
she  played  femme  de  chambre  upstairs,  came  stumbling 
down,  volubly  defending  herself  in  advance  from  some 

28 


Shopping  Under  Difficulties 

unspoken  charge  and  holding  something  in  her  closed 
wet  hand :  "  I  no  have  done  dot  ting !  no,  I  neffer  make 
mit  dot  ting !  No,  neffer !  My  Miss  Ladies !  Vunce 
— youst  vunce — I  touch  dot  cork  to  de  tongue — youst 
dot  I  see  if  it  vas  beet  juice  alretty,  und  it  vasn't — und 
I  ain't  broke  nottings!  No,  my  Herr  Mister — not- 
tings!" 

"  In  other  days,"  groaned  Mrs.  Lawton,  "  this  girl 
would  only  have  known  my  scullery !  " 

"  Why,  Lena,"  said  Dorothy,  "  nothing  has  been 
broken — so,  of  course,  you  cannot  be  blamed." 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Lena,  desperately,  "  der  mistress's  red- 
cheeks  bottle  is  broked,  und  I  don't  do  it !  " 

"  Lena ! "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Lawton,  "  leave  the 
room ! " 

"  I  show  first,  den  I  leave  der  rooms ! "  said  Lena, 
tearfully.  "  See  you  here,  my  Miss  Ladies,"  said  she, 
opening  her  hand.  "  I  find  him  in  der  slops-jar — but, 
I  don't  neffer  break  der  lady's  cheeks-bottle — neffer! 
—no!" 

There,  on  the  wet  palm,  lay  the  half  of  a  tiny  bottle, 
whose  contents  had  been  red,  and  on  its  front  still  clung 
the  legend  "  Rouge- Vinaigre."  The  girls'  eyes  sank, 
their  faces  flushed  red  all  over.  This  explained  the 
unusual  paleness  of  their  mother,  the  sudden  necessity 
for  visiting  the  city,  and  the  spoiling  of  their  day.  A 
painful  silence,  broken  only  by  Lena's  snuffle,  held  them 
for  a  moment ;  then  Mr.  Lawton  spoke,  almost  stern- 
ly :  "  You  may  go,  Lena — I  know  all  about  who  broke 
the  toilet  bottle.  Give  me  my  coffee,  Letitia." 

And  then  Sybil  gave  unconscious  proof  of  an  ability 
29 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

to  act.  For,  conquering  her  shamed  surprise  at  learn- 
ing that  her  mother  painted,  she  raised  calm  eyes,  and 
said,  in  a  perfectly  matter-of-course  way :  "  Oh, 
mamma,  it's  a  shame  not  to  feel  more  sorry  for  your 
accident,  but  I  was  always  a  selfish  little  wretch,  and  I 
know  right  where  that  lovely  store  is  where  all  the  im- 
ported toilet  articles  are  on  sale — and  oh,  dear  mamma ! 
if  you  will  only  trust  me  to  get  your  '  vinaigre  de  toi- 
lette '  I  shall  have  a  chance  of  seeing  all  those  exquisite 
shell  ornaments,  and  the  Rhinestone  hair-pins,  and  the 
newest  models  for  hair  dressing.  Indeed,  Dorrie  and 
I  might  pick  up  some  very  useful  ideas  there." 

Mrs.  Lawton  hesitated.  Sybil's  manner  of  accept- 
ing the  mortifying  discovery  as  a  mere  matter  of  course 
was  certainly  comrorting,  but  she  "  did  not  think  it 
proper,"  she  said,  "  for  young  girls  to  go  into  a  store 
and  buy  r — r — that  is,  vinaigre  de  toilette." 

"  But,"  urged  Sybil,  who  knew  her  mother,  enjoy- 
ing perfect  health,  dearly  loved  to  be  treated  as  an  in- 
valid, "  the  day  is  going  to  be  a  warm  one,  and  the  first 
heat  is  very  trying  to  one  inclined  to  be  delicate." 

Mrs.  Lawton  sighed,  and  unconsciously  drooped  a 
little.  Sybil  continued :  "  And  bonnet  and  gloves  and 
corset  and  walking-boots  and  all  the  harness  a  well- 
dressed  woman  has  to  carry  are  so  fatiguing.  And  the 
car-ride  after  the  shopping — you  will  be  used  up, 
mamma !  " 

And  in  a  burst  of  self-pity  mamma  concluded  she 
would  best  serve  the  family  by  conserving  her  own  poor 
strength.  And  Dorrie,  meantime,  under  cover  of  fol- 
lowing the  flight  of  an  oriole  past  the  window,  had 

30 


Shopping  Under  Difficulties 

dried  the  shamed  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  her  father, 
cup  in  hand,  discoursing  upon  the  superiority  of  the 
Baltimore  over  the  orchard  oriole,  had  screened  her 
from  the  other  two,  and  had  left  a  pitying  kiss  on  the 
crown  of  her  bonnie  head.  And  so  at  last  they  started 
for  what  Sybil  called  their  day  of  "  ninety-nine-and-a- 
half-cent  "  shopping. 


CHAPTER  IV 

AN  ACQUAINTANCE  RENEWED 

As  they  came  out  of  the  Forty-second  Street  station 
they  rushed,  after  the  true  American  fashion,  for  a 
Fourth  Avenue  car.  Another  followed  in  two  min- 
utes, and  had  they  been  German  or  English  they  would 
in  leisurely  comfort  have  taken  that,  but  being  Ameri- 
can they  quite  needlessly  made  a  breathless  rush  for 
the  first  car,  and  at  its  step  collided  violently  with  a 
rotund  and  florid  old  male — "  glass-of-fashion  and 
mould-of-form."  Three  "  beg  pardons  "  rose  simul- 
taneously into  the  air.  Each  party  drew  back  deferen- 
tially. The  conductor,  with  murder  in  his  eye,  yelled 
fiercely :  "  Step  lively  there,  will  youse !  "  With  beau- 
tiful obedience  they  all  sprang  forward  to  a — second 
collision.  Puffing  like  a  porpoise,  the  old  man,  hat  in 
hand,  gasped  apologies  to  the  now  helplessly  confused 
girls,  until  the  conductor,  with  a  contemptuous :  "  Ah 
— what's  the  matter  wid  youse — eider  get  on  or  take 
de  nex',"  began  hauling  the  girls  roughly  up  the  steps 
with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  savagely  jerked 
the  starting-bell,  leaving  the  man  to  decide  for  him- 
self whether  to  risk  his  elderly  limbs  boarding  a  mov- 
ing car  or  to  wait  for  "  de  nex'."  The  decision  was 
swiftly  made,  for,  firmly  grasping  the  platform  rail- 

32 


An  Acquaintance  Renewed 

ing,  he  ran  a  few  steps  by  the  car  and  then  swung  him- 
self safely  up,  in  quite  a  jaunty  fashion — for  this  rakish 
old  beau  had  determined  to  keep  the  girlish  young 
beauties  in  sight. 

Coming  from  the  station,  and  each  carrying,  as  he 
noticed,  a  small  black  silk  bag,  he  correctly  concluded 
that,  all  unattended,  they  were  undertaking  a  shopping 
expedition,  and  he  drew  himself  up  with  an  air  and 
began  to  twirl  his  gray  mustache,  for,  relying  on  their 
innocence,  his  own  impressive  manner,  and  the  recent 
contretemps  for  assistance,  he  hoped  to  force  an  ac- 
quaintance— one  of  those  chance  acquaintances  that, 
dreaded  by  all  parents,  are  the  absolute  bete  noir  of 
those  mothers  who  have  not  been  able  to  teach  their 
young  daughters  to  distinguish  between  a  very  cour- 
teous reserve  and  an  almost  "  hail  fellow  "  freedom  of 
speech  with  amiable  strangers.  So,  it  was  not  long 
before  Sybil,  earnestly  discussing  at  what  point  on  their 
list  they  should  begin,  and  whether  they  should  leave 
the  car  at  Twenty-third  or  at  Fourteenth  Street,  dis- 
covered that  the  overdressed  old  man  opposite  was 
ogling  Dorrie  outrageously,  and  her  dark  eyes  flashed 
indignant  glances  at  him,  while  she  did  her  best  to  hold 
her  sister's  attention,  that  she  might  not  be  annoyed 
and  shamed  by  his  conduct.  This  comedy  of  glances 
finally  caught  the  attention  of  a  grave-faced  young 
man  sitting  next  to  Sybil.  He  followed  the  direction  of 
the  old  man's  bold  glances,  and  Dorothy's  sweet  face 
held  him  like  a  magnet.  The  rounded  cheek,  the  soft, 
clear  coloring,  the  sunny,  brown  hair,  the  innocent, 
widely  open  blue  eyes,  and  the  slight  lift  of  the  brows, 

33 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

that  all  unconsciously  gave  her  the  pathetic,  pleading 
look  that  made  people  ever  eager  to  serve  her,  moved 
him  instantly  to  a  feeling  of  positive  gratitude  for  the 
other  girl  who  was  trying  to  protect  her. 

The  car  had  filled  rapidly,  and  people,  mechanically 
hanging  themselves  each  by  one  hand  from  the  over- 
head straps,  swayed  back  and  forth  and  trampled  alike 
upon  the  feet  of  the  just  and  the  unjust,  forming  a 
solidly  opaque  screen  between  tormentor  and  tor- 
mented. Suddenly  the  whirr  of  the  wheels  and  the 
demoniacal  voice  of  the  conductor  crying :  "  Move  up 
there — move  up!  There's  room  enough  up  front,  if 
you'se'll  step  up  to  the  end !  "  became  faint  and  far  off 
to  the  hearing  of  the  grave-faced  young  man,  whose 
gray  eyes  had  discovered  a  little  knot  of  wild  violets 
snuggled  into  one  of  their  own  round  green  leaves  and 
drawn  through  the  button-hole  of  Dorothy's  jacket. 
Through  one  dim  moment  he  saw  a  boy's  stumpy 
brown  fist  holding  out  a  bunch  of  "  vi'lets  "  to  a  sick 
white  hand  all  netted  over  with  distended  blue  veins, 
and  heard  a  thin  whispering  voice  saying :  "  And 
mother  would  have  loved  them  quite  as  well  if  her  boy 
had  called  them  '  violets  '  instead  of  '  vi'lets,'  "  and  the 
little  blossoms  became  but  a  purple  blur  as  he  thought 
with  a  pang  how  long  that  dear  admonishing  voice  had 
been  silent. 

The  crowd  had  increased,  and  Sybil,  in  bobbing  her 
head  this  way  and  that  in  an  effort  to  see  just  where 
they  were,  became  conscious  of  a  young  woman  stand- 
ing before  her.  She  was  very  pale,  and  great  drops  of 
perspiration  stood  on  her  hollow  temples.  She  carried 

34 


An  Acquaintance  Renewed 

a  heavy-looking  baby  in  her  arms,  and,  having  no  strap 
to  hold  to,  she  reeled  and  staggered  and  pitched  with 
every  sudden  start  or  jerking  stop  of  the  car.  Sybil, 
with  a  pitying  exclamation,  rose  and  gave  her  place  to 
the  poor,  sick-looking  creature,  who,  sinking  into  the 
seat,  raised  grateful,  tear-filled  eyes  to  the  dark,  glow- 
ing face  above  her,  saying :  "  It's  the  baby — he's  that 
heavy,  or  I  wouldn't  take  it  from  you,  ma'am."  Then 
up  sprang  the  old  beau,  and  offered  his  place  to  Sybil, 
who  coldly  thanked  him,  but  preferred  to  stand  by  her 
sister.  But  that  was  just  what  he  proposed  to  do  him- 
self— to  stand  by  her,  and  quite  naturally  to  address  a 
few  words  to  that  fair  sister,  and  he  so  far  forgot  him- 
self as  to  put  his  hand  on  Sybil's  arm  and  try  to  force 
her  into  his  seat,  when  suddenly  the  grave  young 
man  rose,  touched  the  woman  with  the  baby  on  the 
shoulder,  and  said :  "  Move  into  my  place,  please,  and 
allow  this  young  lady  to  resume  her  seat."  The  thing 
had  been  done  so  quickly  that  there  was  no  time  for 
thought,  and  the  two  quick  "  thank  yous  "  of  the  girls 
were  followed  by  a  grateful  smile  and  an  upward  glance 
of  Dorrie's  blue  eyes  straight  into  the  face  of  the  young 
man,  who  felt  his  hand  tremble  as  he  lifted  his  hat  and 
silently  made  his  way  through  the  crowd  to  the  rear 
platform. 

The  elderly  ogler,  meantime,  very  red  as  to  face  and 
neck,  looked  out  of  the  window  nearest  him.  The 
girls,  who  had  been  consulting  their  lists,  rose  suddenly 
while  he  was  so  occupied,  and  with  several  other  pas- 
sengers left  the  car.  The  moment  he  missed  them  he 
started  to  his  feet,  but  as  he  moved  he  saw  a  card  fallen 

35 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

on  the  matting,  and  stooping  picked  it  up.  It  was  one 
of  Mrs.  Lawton's  visiting  cards,  and  on  its  back  was 
scribbled  yards  and  pounds  of  various  articles,  evi- 
dently a  shopping  list.  As  he  turned  it  over  and  read 
"  Mrs.  John  W.  Lawton,"  with  a  former  address 
crossed  off  and  "  Woodsedge  "  written  beneath  it,  he 
exclaimed :  "  The  devil !  Lawton's  girls  grown  up,  and 
I  didn't  recognize  them?  By  thunder!  I  must  find 
them  again !  Hi !  conductor !  "  He  plunged  toward 
the  platform,  brushing  against  open  papers  and  step- 
ping on  toes  without  apology,  and,  dropping  off  the 
car,  he  returned  to  the  corner  of  the  street  where  the 
girls  had  disappeared. 

"  Lawton's  girls !  "  he  muttered.  "  Woodsedge — 
where  the  devil  is  Woodsedge,  I'd  like  to  know !  But 
thai  blondest  girl's  a  beauty,  and  no  mistake!  The 
dark  one  glared  at  me  like  a  cat.  Let's  see,  now,  what 
did  they  call  those  youngsters  when  they  were  over  in 
the  Oranges  ?  "  And  hunting  through  his  wicked  old 
memory  for  the  names  he  had  forgotten,  he  placed 
himself  on  guard  in  front  of  a  certain  great  store,  on 
the  chance  of  seeing  Sybil  and  Dorothy  come  out. 
A  most  undignified  occupation  for  Mr.  William  Henry 
Bulkley,  aged  fifty-five  years,  worth  some  eight  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars,  but  rated  as  a  millionaire.  Yet 
there  were  certain  people  in  the  city  who  would  have 
expressed  no  surprise  had  they  seen  him  so  engaged, 
since  they  knew  the  occupation  was  neither  new  nor 
strange  to  him.  He  had  long  retired  from  business, 
and  now  relied  principally  upon  the  devil  to  provide 
work  for  his  idle  hands  to  do,  and  it  is  but  fair  to  ad- 

36 


An  Acquaintance  Renewed 

mit  that  he  was  seldom  without  a  job.  That  he  was 
looked  upon  and  spoken  of  as  a  millionaire  filled  him 
with  pride  unspeakable.  There  is  not  a  doubt  that  from 
the  two  hundred  thousand  dollars  with  which  the 
world  mistakenly  accredited  him  he  drew  greater  sat- 
isfaction and  delight  than  from  the  eight  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars  he  really  owned.  So  much  pleasanter  it  is 
to  be  over,  rather  than  correctly,  estimated. 

A  big  man  was  Mr.  Bulkley — whose  employees  used 
to  call  "  Old  Hulkey  " — a  heavily  breathing  man,  who 
had  lost  his  waist-line  years  ago,  to  his  great  chagrin. 
He  had  long  yellow  teeth,  his  own  beyond  a  doubt, 
since  no  dentist  on  earth  would  have  risked  his  repu- 
tation by  making  such  an  atrocious  set.  His  cheeks 
sagged,  and  were  of  a  brick  red,  netted  over  with  tiny 
purplish  veins.  He  had  pale,  impudent  blue  eyes,  and 
his  occasional  trick  of  leering  from  under  half-drooped 
lids  made  them  offensively  ugly.  He  dressed  in  the 
fashion  of — to-morrow.  No  novelty  escaped  him,  and 
his  jewelry  was  really  the  best  thing  about  him,  since  it 
was  genuine  and  modest. 

In  the  days  when  he  had  been  a  neighbor  of  the 
Lawtons,  over  in  the  picturesque  Orange  Mountains, 
he  had  had  a  wife,  or,  to  be  more  exact,  there  had  been 
a  Mrs.  Bulkley,  since  for  many  years  she  had  been 
nothing  more  to  him  than  an  unsalaried  housekeeper. 
His  contemptuous  indifference  as  to  her  knowledge  of 
his  infamies  deprived  her  even  of  the  cloak  of  pre- 
tended ignorance  with  which  many  a  betrayed  wife 
hides  her  wounded  pride  and  self-respect.  So,  from  a 
rosy,  cheery,  happy  wife,  she  had  been  changed  into  a 

37 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

pale  and  silent  housekeeper.  Sometimes  a  certain  al- 
leviating friendship  exists  between  a  wife  and  her  dis- 
loyal husband,  but  not  in  this  case ;  for  without  sym- 
pathy there  can  be  no  friendship,  and  there  was  not  a 
particle  of  sympathy  between  the  dutiful,  pure-minded, 
humiliated  Anna  Bulkley  and  the  lax,  self-loving,  and 
carnal  William  H.  Bulkley. 

So  she  had  folded  her  lips  closely  to  hide  their  ten- 
dency to  tremble,  and  had  borne  her  lot  silently,  grow- 
ing a  little  paler,  a  little  thinner,  a  little  more  retiring 
year  by  year,  until  there  came  that  hottest  morning  of 
a  long,  hot  stretch  of  weather  when  she  failed  to  de- 
scend to  breakfast,  and  her  husband  had  angrily  rapped 
upon  her  door,  declaring  that  because  he  wished  to  go 
to  the  city  early  that  day  he  supposed  she  meant  to 
sleep  forever,  and  was  surprised  to  find  his  supposition 
was  an  absolutely  correct  one,  for  she  slept  forever. 
"  Heart  failure,"  said  the  hastily  summoned  doctor, 
and  doubtless  he  accurately  stated  the  immediate  cause 
of  death,  but  there  were  certain  women  among  these 
lovely  country  homes  who  felt  sure  that  the  fatal  weak- 
ness was  neither  recent  nor  caused  by  the  summer  heat ; 
who  believed  the  poor  wife's  heart  failure  dated  from 
the  time  her  husband  abandoned  home  for  harem,  and 
by  the  publicity  of  his  infidelities  had  made  her  an  ob- 
ject of  contemptuous  pity.  Therefore  cold  and  un- 
friendly were  the  glances  they  cast  upon  the  black- 
clothed,  crepe-bound  widower  in  their  midst. 

Now,  looking  back  to  that  time,  he  recalled  his  dead 
wife's  fondness  for  the  little  ones  of  her  neighbor's — 
the  bon-bons  she  always  kept  at  hand,  the  swing  she 

38 


An   Acquaintance  Renewed 

had  put  up  for  her  childish  visitors'  amusement,  and 
the  accident,  one  day,  when  the  rope  broke,  and — yes, 
these  very  children  of  Lawton's  were  the  ones  that  fell ; 
and  then  quite  suddenly  he  seemed  to  hear  his  wife's 
voice,  crying:  "Oh,  Dorrie,  Sibbie,  are  you  hurt?" 

With  a  triumphant  laugh  he  struck  his  hands  to- 
gether, exclaiming:  "  I've  found  them!  I've  got  their 
names  at  last !  Now,  if  I  can  find  the  girls  again  in  this 
confounded  crowd,  I'll  have  fair  sailing !  " 

But  it  happened  that  the  girls  saw  him  first,  and 
cleverly  avoided  him  by  whipping  through  a  side  street 
over  to  Sixth  Avenue,  where,  with  a  sigh  for  the  salads 
and  strawberries  of  Broadway,  they  lunched  upon  cof- 
fee and  buns  in  a  clean  little  bakery ;  for,  by  so  doing 
and  by  walking  and  saving  cross-town  fares  both  ways, 
they  were  able  each  to  buy  a  bit  of  bright  ribbon  for 
Lena  to  turn  into  the  awful  bows  with  which  she  loved 
to  plaster  her  honest  German  breast. 

"  Poor  thing !  "  sighed  Dorothy ;  "  I  wish  we  could 
get  her  something  worth  while !  " 

"  So  do  I,"  answered  Sybil ;  "  for  positively  she  is 
the  staff  of  our  family  at  present,  and  to  think  that  papa 
should  have  found  her !  I  believe  the  one  dollar  he  paid 
to  the  intelligence  office  that  day  was  the  only  lucky  in- 
vestment of  his  life !  " 

"  Poor  thing !  "  repeated  Dorothy ;  "  I'm  afraid  she 
will  not  walk  a  primrose  path  to-day !  " 

"  No ! "  answered  Sybil,  "  it  will  not  be  easy  for 
mamma  to  forgive  that  '  cheeks  bottle '  speech,  and 
Lena  will  probably  hear  a  good  many  allusions  to  scul- 
leries in  consequence,  or  mamma  may  crush  her  into 

39 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

speechless  awe  by  suddenly  and  apropos  of  nothing 
telling  her  that  she — the  mistress — once  danced  in  the 
same  room  with  the  Prince  of  Wales !  "  And  they 
laughed  a  little  over  the  old  boast  as  they  hastened 
back  to  Broadway  to  secure  the  new  bottle  of  rouge- 
vinaigre. 

Meantime  Mr.  Bulkley,  who,  like  most  vain  men,  had 
a  corn  or  two,  had  grown  weary  of  watching  from  the 
sidewalk,  and,  swearing  a  little  to  himself,  had  gone 
to  a  fashionable  restaurant,  much  favored  by  women ; 
and,  little  dreaming  that  the  place  was  far  beyond  the 
means  of  the  girls  he  sought,  he  secured  a  seat  near 
the  door,  where  he  sat,  and,  like  a  fat  old  spider, 
watched  for  his  pretty  flies.  But  they  came  not,  and 
when  he  could  decently  sit  there  no  longer,  he  cursed 
just  under  his  breath  with  an  ease  and  fluency  that 
showed  long  and  earnest  practice ;  then,  red  and  hot 
with  wine  and  anger,  he  paid  his  bill  and  went  out,  quite 
forgetting  that  truthful  old  saying,  "  The  devil  takes 
care  of  his  own,"  until  his  infernal  majesty  did  it  in  his 
case  by  suddenly  bringing  into  view  the  two  girlish 
figures  he  had  so  long  been  searching  for. 

Having  mamma's  new  "  cheeks-bottle "  concealed 
in  a  non-committal  box  of  white  pasteboard,  Sybil  came 
forth,  followed  slowly  by  Dorothy,  who  had  not  com- 
pleted her  study  of  the  coiffure  worn  by  one  of  the 
waxy  beauties  with  inch-long  eyelashes  and  button- 
hole mouth,  who  lived  in  the  window  and  turned  about 
slowly  and  steadily  all  the  time  the  public  eye  was  upon 
her. 

"Just  wait,  Sybil,"  said  Dorothy,  "until  her  back 
40 


An  Acquaintance  Renewed 

comes  this  way  again.  I'm  sure  that  jug-handle  knot  is 
not  tied,  and  yet  how  can  you  make  a  knot  of  back  hair 
stand  up  firmly  like  that  without  tying  it,  I  should 
like  to  know  ?  " 

"  Why,"  replied  Sybil,  "  I  oelieve  it's  done  by  ex- 
tremely tight  twisting.  Haven't  you  noticed  how  a 
tightly  twisted  cord  will  double  itself  back  in  just  that 
shape,  and " 

She  got  no  farther.  A  cough,  "  I  beg  your  pardon !  " 
interrupted  her.  Both  girls  turned,  to  face  the  smiling, 
bowing  William  Henry  Bulkley,  who,  ignoring  their 
frowns,  hastened  to  say,  with  a  sort  of  bluff  and 
fatherly  cordiality :  "  My  dear  Miss  Lawton — Miss 
Dorothy — I  hesitated  to  recall  myself  to  your  memory 
at  our  first  meeting  this  morning,  as  I  saw  with  regret 
you  had  quite  forgotten  me.  [This  is  the  sort  of  thing 
that  keeps  Truth  at  the  bottom  of  her  well.]  But  this 
second  accidental  meeting  seems  so  like  a  Providence 
restoring  a  valued  friendship  that  I  venture  to  address 
you  with  messages  to  my  old-time  friend  and  neighbor, 
John  Lawton ! " 

"  Yes  ?  "  softly  queried  Dorothy,  but  Sybil,  with 
back-thrown  head,  regarded  him  with  an  angry  sus- 
picion he  could  have  shaken  her  for.  Still  he  pro- 
ceeded, blandly :  "  A  man  I  highly  esteemed,  and  have 
long  hoped  to  meet  again.  You  have,  then  [regret- 
fully], quite  forgotten  me  ?  You  used  to  be  rather  fond 
of  visiting  my  wife  and  swinging " 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Bulkley !  "  exclaimed  Dorothy,  catching 
Sybil's  arm.  "  Don't  you  remember  our  fall  from  the 
swing,  and  how  good  she  was  to  us  ?  "  And  maliciously 

41 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

interrupted  Sybil:  "How  angry  Mr.  Bulkley  was? 
Yes,  I  remember  you,  sir !  " 

And  looking  into  each  other's  eyes,  they  hated  one 
another  right  heartily.  But  Dorothy,  thinking  only  of 
what  a  pleasant  surprise  this  finding  of  an  old  friend 
would  be  to  her  father,  hastened  to  say :  "  Papa  will  re- 
member you  well,  Mr.  Bulkley,  I'm  sure !  " 

"  Thank  you !  "  beamed  that  gentleman.  "  And  your 
charming  mamma,  how  is  she?  Well?  So  glad!  A 
very  lovely  woman.  May  I  ask  your  present  address, 
and  your  kind  permission  to  call  upon  your  parents — 
that,  according  to  our  foreign  critics,  is,  I  believe,  the 
correct  formula,  since  they  declare  that  parents  are 
governed  absolutely  by  their  children  in  America. 
Woodsedge  ?  Broadway  ?  Ah,  yes — yes,  near  the  new 
park  the  city  is  about  opening — quite  so !  I — I  shall 
do  myself  the  pleasure  of  driving  out  to  present  my 
compliments  to  your  mamma  and  renew  my  friend- 
ship with  your  father.  Do  allow  me,  Miss  Dorrie — 
no  trouble  at  all.  I  am  on  my  way  uptown,  and  I  shall 
esteem  it  a  pleasure  to  see  you  young  ladies  on  to  your 
home  train." 

And  almost  forcibly  removing  various  packages 
from  both  girls'  hands,  he  constituted  himself  their 
escort  and  guardian,  feasting  his  eyes  upon  the  fresh 
young  beauty  of  Dorothy  when  the  noise  prevented 
talking.  At  the  station  he  added  to  their  parcels  a 
couple  of  magazines  and  a  box  of  chocolates,  and,  see- 
ing them  safely  through  the  door  that  admitted  them 
to  their  train's  platform,  he  doffed  his  hat  in  farewell. 
And  Dorothy  gave  him  a  rather  forced  smile  and  hasty 

42 


An   Acquaintance  Renewed 

good-by,  while  Sybil,  with  unsmiling  lips,  gave  a  short 
nod  of  her  haughty  young  head,  and  William  Henry 
Bulkley  said,  low :  "  You  damned  little  cat,"  put  on  his 
hat  again  and  went  out,  and,  climbing  into  a  car,  added 
to  himself :  "  But  the  other  one — good  Lord !  When 
you  come  to  talk  about  peaches,  why " 


43 


CHAPTER  V 
"THE  WOMAN  OF  FATE" 

At  the  back  of  Woodsedge  there  was  a  place  of  green 
and  fragrant  mystery.  In  former  years  it  had  been 
an  orchard,  but  unlimited  sun  and  rain  had  combined, 
with  man's  neglect,  to  reduce  it  to  this  state  of  ruinous 
beauty.  At  one  end  the  trees  were  so  close,  the  boughs 
so  intermingled,  that  their  foliage  seemed  a  canopy 
dense  enough  to  turn  aside  the  sharpest  sun-lance,  and 
the  orchard,  abutting,  as  it  did,  upon  the  forest  growth 
belonging  to  the  park,  seemed  but  the  more  like  a 
wilderness.  For  the  girls  it  had  many  delights,  the 
chief  one  being  that  the  unscraped,  uncleaned  trunks, 
the  unpruned  branches,  the  weedy,  seedy  growths  by 
the  walls,  all  provided  food  in  incalculable  quantities 
for  innumerable  birds — long  before  fruit  time.  Your 
bird  hates  the  well-cleaned,  scraped-down,  poison- 
washed,  eggless,  larvaeless  orchard  of  the  commer- 
cially inclined  farmer;  but  this  seemed  to  be  the  gen- 
eral refectory  for  all  the  birds  in  the  county.  Balti- 
more orioles  hung  a  nest  from  the  tip  of  an  elm  bough 
directly  over  it.  Orchard  orioles,  cat-birds,  thrushes, 
and  robins  took  apartments  in  it.  A  cuckoo  and  his 
wife  dropped  an  inadequate  and  slovenly  nest  into  an 
overgrown  shrub,  and  though  their  slim,  gray  shapes 
were  seldom  seen,  their  "chug,  chug,  chug"  was  so 

44 


"The  Woman  of  Fate" 

often  heard  that  Lena  indignantly  declared :  "  Dem 
rain  crows  cum  make  great  lies  in  dis  country.  In  de 
olt  country,  ven  dey  says  '  t-chug,  t-chug,'  ten  it  rain 
by  jiminy !  But  here  dey  youst  say  '  t-chug,  t-chug  ' 
to  make  you  worry  mit  de  clothes  dryin',"  while  the 
dainty  antics  of  a  jewel-like  little  redstart  filled  her 
with  laughter.  "  I  vork  youst  behind  dat  grapevine 
arbor,  und  I  see  him,  my  Miss  Ladies ;  and  he  got  von 
frau — youst  so  big  as  my  turn,  und  so  qwiet,  und  he 
make  to  dance  und  yump  before  her — und  cock  de  eye 
at  her,  und  he  shiver  out  dem  orange  und  black  fedders 
for  her  to  look  at,  und  he  svitch  de  leetle  tail  dis  vay 
und  dat  vay,  und  she  youst  look  up  und  say,  plain, 
my  Miss  Ladies : '  Gott  in  himmel !  Vas  dere  eber  such 
a  bird-mans  as  dis  Von  of  mine  ?  ' '  And  though  the 
refectory  was  visited  by  warblers  of  many  kinds,  none 
of  them  made  music  sweeter  than  the  innocent  laugh- 
ter of  the  sisters  over  the  bird  courtship  Lena  de- 
scribed. 

On  this  particular  morning  the  girls  had  gone  to  the 
tangled  old  orchard  for  secret  conclave.  The  ground 
was  white  with  spring's  snowstorm  of  fruit  blossoms, 
and  they  could  feel  the  petals  falling  lightly  upon  their 
uncovered  heads  as  they  walked.  Sybil  pulled  a  mon- 
ster dandelion,  and,  after  touching  the  great  golden 
disc  with  her  lips,  she  drew  the  long  stem  through  her 
dark  hair,  leaving  the  blossom  blazing  just  above  her 
ear. 

"  If  this  was  only  a  rare  growth,"  said  she,  "  how 
people  would  rave  over  its  beauty.  Dorothy,  take 
warning — don't  be  common!  Always  remember  old 

45 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

gardener  Jake's  words  to  us  when  we  were  little: 
'  Make  yerselves  skeerce,  young  ladies,  and  y'ell  be 
valley 'd  accordinY  But  what's  the  use  of  trying  to 
teach  wisdom  to  a  girl  who  shows  she's  chock  full  of 
black  superstitions !  " 

For  beyond  a  doubt  Dorothy  was  earnestly  search- 
ing for  a  four-leaf  clover,  and  presently  she  held  out 
a  five-leaf  specimen  for  Sybil  to  look  at.  But  she 
waved  it  away,  gloomily  misquoting :  "  That  clover 
doth  protest  too  much,  methinks.  You  will  do  better 
to  cling  to  the  three-leaf,  that,  promising  nothing,  has 
no  power  to  disappoint  you,  Dorrie !  " 

"  Oh,  but  I'm  looking  for  the  four-leaf  for  you,  Sib 
dear!  If  I  find  it,  you  will  get  the  introduction  you 
long  for  without  another  such  disappointment  as  yes- 
terday." 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  cried  Sybil,  leaning  her  brow  against 
a  tree  trunk ;  "  don't  talk  about  it !  "  though  that  was 
exactly  what  they  had  come  out  there  for — to  talk  over 
the  failure  of  Sybil's  last,  best,  most  natural  seeming 
plan  for  an  accidental  meeting  with  the  woman  of  her 
dreams.  She  was  busy  winking  back  her  tears  when 
Dorothy  gave  an  exclamation,  thrust  out  her  hand  to 
brush  aside  a  big,  yellow-belted,  booming  bumble-bee, 
then  plucked  and  held  up  triumphantly  a  four-leaf 
clover,  and,  her  face  all  flushed  with  heat  and  excite- 
ment, she  cried :  "  See  that !  She's  yours,  dear !  The 
Woman  of  Fate — she's  yours!  Now  you  see  if  she 
isn't!" 

Sybil  took  the  little  emblem  of  good  luck,  and,  put- 
ting her  arm  around  her  sister's  waist  to  hug  her  close, 

46 


"The  Woman  of  Fate" 

she  laughed :  "  Oh,  Dorrie,  for  a  girl  who  says  her 
prayers  every  night  and  morning,  you  are  the  most  su- 
perstitious little  beast — what's  that  ?  " 

"  It's  her !  "  answered  Dorothy,  in  ungrammatical 
delight ;  and  Sybil,  catching  some  of  her  spirit,  held  the 
little  emblem  above  her  head,  crying,  laughingly: 
"  Now  let  the  poor  leaf  get  in  its  fine  work !  " 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  her  lips  when  clear 
and  sharp  there  rose  the  sound  of  metal's  ringing  blow 
against  stone,  followed  by  a  quick  "  Ho — la  "  in  a 
woman's  voice,  and  the  instant  stoppage  of  the  regular 
"  click-klack,  click-klack  "  of  a  trotting  horse. 

Down  under  the  gigantic  willow — his  favorite  tree — 
had  been  sitting  John  Lawton,  reading  his  paper,  and 
now  the  girls  saw  him  rise  and  hasten  out  to  Broad- 
way; saw  him,  with  hat  off,  speaking  to  the  fretful 
chestnut  and  his  blue  habited  rider,  who  pointed  back- 
ward with  her  crop.  The  watching  girls,  without  hesi- 
tation, clambered  over  the  low  stone  wall  and  came 
nearer.  They  made  out  that  their  father  remonstrated, 
and  the  woman  laughed.  And  then  they  caught  from 
her  the  words :  "  Very  kind,  and  in  half  an  hour,"  and 
she  was  away  again ;  but  this  time  the  "  clipperty-clap- 
perty-clip  "  told  that  she  rode  at  a  gallop.  The  girls 
fairly  tore  down  the  hill,  crying  "  Papa — papa !  what 
was  it  ?  Tell  us  about  it !  "  But  first  he  pointed  to  the 
disappearing  pair,  saying :  "  Look  at  that — that's  not 
bad  riding  for  a  woman  to  do  without  a  stirrup !  " 

"  Without  a  stirrup  ?  "  questioned  the  girls.  "  Why, 
what  do  you  mean,  papa  ?  " 

"  Just  what  I  say.    I  told  her  it  wasn't  safe,  but  she 

47 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

says  it's  a  poor  horsewoman  who  can't  ride  from  bal- 
ance, and  on  she  went ;  but  she's — just  wait  a  bit,"  he 
broke  off,  "  I'll  be  back  in  a  moment ; "  and  he  went 
down  the  road,  crossed  over  to  a  large  stone  at  the  road- 
side, and,  stooping,  picked  something  up.  Returning, 
the  girls  saw  that  he  carried  a  woman's  stirrup. 

"  That's  what  we  heard  clear  up  in  the  orchard !  " 
said  Sybil. 

"  Is  she  going  to  send  for  it  ?  "  asked  Dorothy. 

Sybil's  very  breath  was  suspended  as  she  waited  for 
the  answer.  How  slow  he  was  about  it !  At  last,  feel- 
ing in  his  pocket  for  a  bit  of  twine,  he  replied : 

"  No ;  she's  going  to  stop  here  and  pick  it  up  on  her 
way  home." 

Sybil  went  white  for  an  instant,  then  flushed  red  from 
brow  to  chin.  Dorothy  squeezed  her  hand  sympathet- 
ically. Mr.  Lawton  took  up  the  stirrup  and  examined 
the  leather  straps  critically. 

"  I'm  going  to  try  to  tie  this  thing  on  when  she  comes 
back.  She  rides  all  right  enough  for  looks  without  it, 
but  if  that  horse  should  shy,  and  I  don't  believe  he's  a 
bit  above  it,  for  he's  as  nervous  as  a  headachy  woman, 
she  might  be  unseated,  so  I'm  going " 

The  girls  did  not  wait  for  him  to  finish,  but  hand  in 
hand  they  made  a  rush  for  the  house,  and  flew  up  the 
outraged  and  groaning  old  stairs,  to  bathe  their  flushed 
faces  and  to  brush  into  propriety  certain  flying  locks 
of  hair,  and,  in  old-time  parlance,  to  "  prink  "  them- 
selves generally  for  the  coming  interview.  As  they 
hastened  down  again  they  were  disappointed  to  see 
their  father  standing  at  the  gate. 

48 


"The  Woman  of  Fate" 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Dorothy,  "  why  did  he  not  stay  here 
and  let  her  ride  up  to  the  porch  for  the  stirrup.  Then 
we  could  have  appeared  naturally  and  as  a  matter  of 
course ;  now " 

"  Now ! "  broke  in  Sybil,  "  as  a  matter  of  course 
we'll  appear  unnaturally,  thrusting  ourselves  forward 
like  ill-bred  children!  Oh,  let's  run  down  and  bring 
papa  back ! " 

And  away  they  started,  but  almost  immediately  the 
"  clipperty-clapperty-clip "  of  the  approaching  horse 
was  heard,  and  they  stopped.  Dorothy,  noting  how 
swiftly  the  color  came  and  went  on  her  sister's  cheek, 
said,  piteously :  "  I  wonder  if — oh,  I  hope  she  will  be 
nice,  dear ! " 

"  Nice  ?  "  repeated  Sybil,  savagely.  "  Why  should 
she  be  nice  ?  She  is  on  the  top  wave  of  success — we're 
two  little  nobodies !  Why  nice,  pray  ?  But  my  pride 
is  pushed  well  down  in  my  pocket,  Dorrie,  and,  if  need 
be,  I'll  grovel  for  the  help  she  alone  can  give  me !  " 

She  said  no  more,  for  the  horse  had  already  been 
pulled  up,  and  with  a  laugh  Miss  Morrell  held  out  her 
hand  for  the  broken  stirrup ;  but  with  almost  incredible 
determination  Mr.  Lawton  not  only  refused  to  give  it 
up,  but,  leading  the  horse  into  the  willow's  dense  shade, 
he  produced  an  old  awl  and  some  twine,  at  sight  of 
which  the  rider  smilingly  lifted  her  knee  from  the  pom- 
mel and  twisted  about  in  the  saddle,  to  give  him  a 
chance  to  find  the  broken  strap — and  the  girls  looked  at 
her  in  amazement. 

They  had  seen  her  often  at  the  theatre — had  wept 
themselves  sick  over  her  stage  heart-break  and  death ; 

49 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

but  now  they  saw  no  faintest  trace  of  that  moving 
actress  in  the  pleasant-faced  woman  before  them — a 
fair-complexioned,  wholesome-looking  woman,  with 
lots  of  brown  hair,  that  had  glittering  threads  all 
through  and  through  it  that  were  accentuated  by  the 
blackness  of  the  velvet  derby-cap  she  wore.  Her 
straight  nose  was  a  little  too  short,  her  cheek-bones  a 
little  too  high,  her  mouth  a  little  too  wide ;  in  fact,  she 
had  escaped  being  a  beauty  so  easily  that  one  could  not 
help  feeling  she  had  never  been  in  danger.  All  of 
which  did  not  prevent  her  from  being  adored  by 
women.  Presently  Mr.  Lawton  called :  "  Girls,  come 
here  and  help  me  a  moment!  One  of  you  keep  this 
horse  still  and  the  other  hold  Miss  Morrell's  habit  out 
of  the  way  for  me." 

Dorothy,  forgetting  her  timidity,  ran  to  the  big 
chestnut's  head,  so  that  her  sister  might  take  the  place 
nearest  to  the  rider ;  and  as  Sybil  held  the  habit's  folds 
out  of  her  father's  way,  she  raised  such  passionately 
pleading  dark  eyes  that  the  actress,  ever  sensitive  to 
human  emotions,  felt  her  heart  give  a  quickened  throb, 
and  said  to  herself :  "  What  on  earth  is  it  this  girl  is 
demanding  of  me  ?  "  Then  she  spoke :  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir,  but  if  these  are  your  young  daughters,  will 
you  not  introduce  them  to  me  ?  " 

And  John  Lawton,  who  had  the  twine  between  his 
lips  and  the  awl  just  piercing  the  strap,  jerked  his  head 
to  the  right,  and  mumbled :  "  M — m — my  oldest  daugh- 
ter, Sybil,"  then  jerked  it  to  the  left,  with :  "  M — m — 
my  youngest  daughter,  Dorothy — Miss  Morrell." 

And  pulling  off  her  loose  riding-glove,  Miss  Morrell 

50 


"The  Woman  of  Fate" 

gave  her  hand  to  each  of  the  girls  with  a  close,  warm 
pressure  of  the  long,  nervous  fingers  that  was  like  the 
greeting  of  an  old  friend. 

Dorothy  chatted  away,  asking  the  name  of  the  horse 
and  making  extravagant  love  to  him.  But  what  had 
happened  to  Sybil — the  voluble,  sometimes  the  sharp? 
She  stood  there  dumb,  and  apparently  unable  to  take 
her  pleading  eyes  from  the  smiling  face  above  her.  At 
last  the  job  was  finished,  and  as  Mr.  Lawton  placed  the 
bronze-booted  foot  in  the  stirrup  Miss  Morrell's  sigh 
of  comfort  and  exclamation :  "  Ah,  it  does  feel  good  to 
have  it  again,  after  all ! "  made  that  melancholy  old 
gentleman  laugh  aloud  from  sheer  self-satisfaction; 
and  then,  as  she  gathered  up  her  reins,  she  gayly  re- 
marked :  "  Young  ladies,  since  your  father  has  intro- 
duced you  by  your  first  names  only,  perhaps  you  will 
now  introduce  him  to  me  ?  " 

And  with  much  laughter  they  each  took  him  by  a 
hand  and  presented  him  in  full  name — "  Mr.  John  W. 
Lawton." 

Still  feeling  Sybil's  glance,  and  being  well  used  to 
adoring  girls,  Claire  Morrell  said,  after  thanking  him 
for  his  kindness :  "  Mr.  Lawton,  I  live  just  opposite, 
on  Riverdale  Avenue.  If  you  go  so  far  afield,  will  you 
not  call  upon  me  ?  "  Then,  touching  the  fading  dande- 
lion with  her  crop,  she  added :  "  I  see  you  are  fond  of 
flowers.  Perhaps  your  father  will  permit  you  and  Miss 
Dorothy  to  come  over  some  day  and  take  a  look  at  my 
posies  ?  " 

The  color  rushed  over  Sybil's  face  and  her  eyes 
fairly  blazed  in  sudden  joy,  and  the  actress  felt  she  had 

51 


A  Pasteboard   Crown 

at  least  partly  translated  that  beseeching  gaze.  Doro- 
thy accepted  the  invitation  very  prettily  for  herself 
and  sister,  Mr.  Lawton  raised  his  hat,  and  as  the  actress 
wheeled  her  horse  about  her  white  glove  fell  to  the 
ground  and  she  rode  on,  leaving  it  there.  Dorothy 
snatched  it  up  and  passed  it  to  Sybil,  while  John  Law- 
ton  looked  after  the  rider  and  remarked,  with  emphasis : 
"  A  charming  woman !  " 

And  Dorothy  answered,  excitedly :  "  I  always 
thought  actresses  had  to  be  pretty  women,  though  at 
night  even  this  Miss  Morrell  looks " 

"  Never  mind  what  she  looks ! "  interrupted  her 
father.  "  She's  a  charming  woman !  You  must  go 
over  some  day  and  see  her  at  home !  "  And  he  returned 
to  his  paper  under  the  willow. 

Dorothy  went  at  once  to  her  mother  to  give  that  lady 
a  voluminous  and  detailed  account  of  what  had  hap- 
pened, and  to  be  cross-examined  at  great  length  as  to 
the  make  of  the  actress's  habit,  the  quality  of  her  horse, 
and  the  condition  of  her  complexion,  greatly  doubting, 
as  she  did,  Dorothy's  assertion  as  to  its  naturalness. 
But  Sybil  fled  upstairs  and  flung  herself  across  the  bed 
and  pressed  her  hot  cheek  against  the  crumpled  rein- 
rubbed  glove.  Her  wish  had  been  granted,  and  all  had 
happened  so  unexpectedly.  Nervous,  foolish,  joyful 
tears  ran  down  her  cheeks,  and,  as  she  recalled  the  com- 
prehending blue  eyes  of  her  Woman  of  Fate,  she  knew 
in  her  heart  that  she  had  found  help. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  RECOGNITION   AND  A  DINNER 

It  was  Sunday.  The  inevitable  May  cold  spell  was 
over.  Like  half-perished  insects,  the  Lawtons  gath- 
ered on  the  porch  and  basked  in  the  early  sunshine. 
Presently  John  Lawton,  who  was  sensitive  to  heat,  par- 
ticularly on  Sundays,  remarked  that  by  the  calendar  it 
was  May,  but  by  his  feelings  it  was  late  June.  And 
Sybil  dabbed  at  his  forehead  with  her  wisp  of  a  hand- 
kerchief, and  answered,  with  affectionate  impertinence : 
"  Well,  it's  not  excessive  originality  of  thought  that 
wears  you  out,  papa,  for  yesterday  you  made  the  dig- 
nified and  impressive  statement  that  the  calendar  said 
it  was  May,  but  your  feelings  told  you  it  was  Novem- 
ber. No,  don't  apologize,  dear,"  and  she  gave  him  an 
explosive  kiss,  "  but  put  your  little  calendar  idea  away 
now  for  a  while — say  till  fall,  and  it'll  come  out  quite 
bright  and  useful." 

Mrs.  Lawton  exclaimed :  "  Sybil !  "  then,  in  an  ex- 
cusing tone,  "  Ah !  if  we  had  our  former  surroundings 
I'm  sure  your  manners  and  words  would  be  quite  in 
consonance  with  them !  " 

"  No  doubt  of  it !  "  promptly  acquiesced  Sybil,  while 
Dorothy  cried :  "  Papa,  positively  you  ought  to  take 
strong  measures  with  Syb,  even  though  she  is  as  tall 

53 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

as  you  are — you  should  shake  her !  "  And  the  utter 
absurdity  of  the  suggestion  sent  them  indoors  in  a  gale 
of  laughter  that  Mrs.  Lawton  denounced  from  behind 
the  coffee  urn  as  "  absolutely  heretical." 

Instantly  Sybil,  with  lance  in  rest,  came  charging  at 
her  mother :  "  Ho — ho !  To  the  rescue !  The  English 
language  is  in  danger!  Mamma,  had  I  so  misused  a 
word,  you  would  have  rapped  me  on  the  head  with  your 
thimble,  d  la  governess  Anna  Smith,  of  evil  memory." 

Mrs.  Lawton  pushed  up  the  quite  dry  bandage  from 
her  brows — that  bandage  was  generally  visible  on  Sun- 
day mornings  till  after  church  bells  ceased  their  troub- 
ling— and  said :  "  Ton  my  word,  Sybil,  your  conduct 
sometimes  approaches  the  contumacious !  Dorothy,  a 
smile  may  degenerate  into  a  grin,  and  what  amuses  you 
is  beyond  my  power  of  vision.  I  do  know,  however, 
that  my  English  is  unassailable." 

"  But,"  Dorothy  tremulously  ventured,  "  but,  by 
heretical  laughter,  mamma,  did  you  not  mean  instead 
that  our  noise  was  inappropriate,  or ?  " 

"  Miss !  "  broke  in  Letitia  Lawton,  "  I  meant  what  I 
said.  It's  Sunday,  and  it's  heresy  to  laugh  aloud  on 
that  day!  Pass  your  father  the  cream-jug;  I've  lived 
with  him  in  honorable  wedlock  for  twenty  years,  but 
I  can't  sugar  or  cream  his  coffee  right  to  this  day." 

"  But,  mamma,"  said  Sybil,  crunching  a  tiny  radish, 
"  is  not  heresy  an  unsound  opinion " 

"  Well,  it's  got  to  be  an  opinion  opposed  to  Script- 
ure ! "  and  Mrs.  Lawton  hammered  the  words  to  the 
table  with  her  knife-handle. 

"  Not  necessarily,"  mildly  objected  John  Lawton,  as 

54 


A  Recognition  and  a  Dinner 

he  pushed  his  cup  toward  the  deity  behind  the  urn. 
"  People  have  committed  heresy  against  other  things 
than  the  Scriptures.  You  can  have  an  unsound  opinion 
without  its  being  a  religious  one." 

"  There !  That's  just  what  I  said !  "  cried  Mrs.  Law- 
ton.  "  Immoderate  laughter  on  Sunday  is  ill-bred,  and 
is,  therefore,  unsound  religious  conduct,  which  is  worse 
than  unsound  opinion,  which  you,  yourself  declare  to 
be  heresy.  Thank  you,  John,  you  seldom  back  me 
up  so  readily.  Why!  those  girls  have  scarcely  tasted 
breakfast,  and  there  they  go  rushing  upstairs.  Oh,  well, 
the  walk  is  rather  long  to  St.  John's,  and  I  suppose  they 
wish  to  take  their  time  over  it !  "  And  she  settled  down 
contentedly  to  her  own  dilly-dallying  meal,  while  Mr. 
Lawton,  with  a  very  red  face,  silently  drank  his  second 
cup  of  coffee. 

After  the  girls  had  gone  churchward,  and  Lena  was 
in  full  control  of  the  apartment,  which  Mrs.  Lawton  al- 
ways referred  to  till  three  o'clock  as  the  breakfast- 
room,  and  afterward  as  the  dining-room,  father  and 
mother  again  resorted  to  the  porch,  each  occupying 
one  of  its  corners.  Mrs.  Lawton,  who  prided  herself 
upon  the  propriety  of  her  attitude  toward  the  church, 
sat  with  the  prayer-book  open  at  the  lesson  for  the  day, 
feeling  that  the  bandage  on  her  brow  so  fully  justified 
her  absence  from  the  church  that  she  was  exceptionally 
devout  in  thus  following  the  service  at  the  correct  mo- 
ment, and  making  her  responses  distinctly  a  few  times, 
so  that  she  might  properly  impress  her  dangerously  lax 
husband.  Then — well,  the  book  seemed  to  be  a  long 
way  off — the  printed  words  ran  together,  jumped 

55 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

apart,  whirled  round  about,  a  warm  haze  closed  softly 
down — she,  she  could  not  see.  She  slept,  while  over  in 
the  other  corner  Mr.  Lawton  sat  by  the  Sunday  paper 
that  itself  occupied  an  entire  chair,  and  in  its  bulky 
'  entirety  might  well  have  required  the  ice-man's  tongs 
to  carry  it  up  the  hill.  And  in  St.  Johns,  that  church, 
picturesque  and  time-honored,  that,  gathering  the  little 
town  about  its  knees,  stands  with  it  in  the  very  centre 
of  a  hill-girdled  hollow,  and  is  in  May  already  greenly 
veiled  with  tender  ivy  and  young  clambering  rose, 
there  sat  none  more  devoutly  attentive  to  the  stately 
service  than  those  two  fair  sisters  from  the  old  White 
house.  Both  were  used  to  attracting  more  or  less  at- 
tention; therefore,  when  they  rose  for  the  Gospel, 
Sybil's  "  Glory  be  to  Thee !  "  died  away  in  her  throat 
from  sheer  astonishment  at  the  burning  blush  she  saw 
sweeping  over  Dorothy's  face  from  chin  to  down-bent 
brow.  With  swift,  indignant  eyes  she  searched  for  the 
cause  of  her  sister's  embarrassment,  and  no  sooner 
had  she  found  the  guilty  man,  who  stood  at  gaze, 
wrapped  in  what  truly  seemed  unconscious  admira- 
tion for  that  sweet  face,  than  she  gave  a  violent  start 
of  recognition ;  then,  with  sharp  question  in  her  eye, 
turned  back  to  Dorothy,  to  find  that  blush  even  hot- 
ter, redder  than  it  was  before,  and  knew  instinctively 
that  she,  too,  had  recognized  the  grave  young  man  of 
the  city  car — he  who  had  frustrated  Mr.  Bulkley's 
plan ;  and  with  a  sudden  swelling  of  the  throat  the  con- 
viction came  to  her  that  these  two  had  fallen  in  love 
at  sight,  and  in  a  very  passion  of  tenderness  for  her 
sister  Sybil  whispered  to  herself,  "  Dorrie !  little  Dor- 

56 


A  Recognition  and  a  Dinner 

rie!  what  are  you  doing,  dear?  He  looks  brave  and 
gentle,  and — and  exacting,  and — you  dear  little  idiot, 
you  are  conscious  of  nothing  but  his  gaze !  And  he, 
grave  as  he  is,  has  quite  lost  track  of  any  other  pres- 
ence here  but  Dome's — my  little  Dorrie,  who  is  bare- 
ly done  with  dolls ! "  And  Sybil's  dark  eyes  were 
dimmed  with  tears  for  a  little  time. 

While  they  were  sitting  through  the  sermon,  the 
dozing  Letitia  and  John  were  being  sorely  confused 
and  disturbed  by  the  unexpected  arrival  of  the  op- 
pressively opulent  Mr.  Bulkley.  Poor  Mrs.  Lawton 
had  been  the  last  to  awaken,  and  the  glittering  trap 
and  big  high-stepping  sorrel  with  the  wickedly  rolling 
eye  were  coming  up  the  unused  grass-grown  drive- 
way before  her  eyes  opened.  She  could  not  fly ;  she 
was  fairly  caught  in  bedroom  slippers  and  bandaged 
head.  There  was  but  one  thing  to  do,  she  decided,  as 
John  Lawton  with  drowsy  eyes  went  forward  to  wel- 
come his  guest;  she  must  hide  her  feet  and  play  up 
to  the  bandage.  In  pursuance  of  this  plan  she  in- 
stantly became  very  languid  in  manner  and  patiently 
enduring  in  expression ;  nor  did  she  forget  the  bright 
bloom  on  her  cheeks,  but  touching  their  cool  surface 
with  the  back  of  her  hand  announced  resignedly  that 
she  supposed  her  fever  was  coming  on  again. 

And  Mr.  Bulkley  frowned  at  the  trees  and  talked 
malaria  and  quinine  and  thinning  out;  and  finding 
the  young  ladies  absent,  decided  to  await  their  return. 
And  so  the  evil  moment  came  when  Mr.  Lawton  had 
to  confess  himself  unable  to  offer  hospitality  to  the 
fretting  sorrel,  who  was  fidgeting  and  stamping  and 

57 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

throwing  gravel  all  over  the  place.  And  Mr.  Bulkley 
had  ordered  his  man  to  take  the  horse  back  the  road 
a  bit  to  a  stable  attached  to  a  road-house  they  had 
passed  and  put  him  up  there;  and  as  Letitia  heard 
him  add,  "  You  can  also  get  your  dinner  at  the  house, 
Dolan,"  her  heart  sank  like  lead  before  a  vision  of  her 
almost  empty  pantry. 

As  the  returning  girls  stepped  aside  to  let  the  horse 
and  trap  pass  out  they  heard  Mr.  Bulkley's  big  laugh 
from  the  porch,  and  in  an  instant  two  frightened  blue 
eyes  were  staring  into  two  troubled  dark  ones,  while 
both  girls  exclaimed,  in  absolute  terror :  "  Dinner !  " 

To  those  who  have  lived  in  the  midst  of  plenty  all 
their  days,  this  dinner  question  may  seem  very  amus- 
ing or  very  absurd,  but  the  genteel  poor  understand 
it  well.  They  know  the  humiliation  and  torture  the 
sensitive  hostess  feels  in  trying  to  entertain  the  unin- 
vited stranger  within  her  gates;  and  here  was  this 
great,  flaunting,  high-feeding  old  man !  There  were 
people  to  whom  the  girls  could  have  frankly  offered 
bread  and  butter  and  tea,  or  crackers  and  cheese  and 
a  cup  of  coffee,  but  not  to  this  "  big  animal,"  as  Sybil 
called  him.  Dorothy  laid  her  hand  on  her  sister's 
arm  and  whispered :  "  Let  us  climb  through  the  break 
in  the  wall  and  go  up  to  the  orchard  and  signal  Lena 
to  come  to  us,  and  there  arrange  what  we  are  to  do." 

"  Good  idea,  that !  "  agreed  Sybil,  "  for  you — er — 
er,  I  mean,  we  shall  never  be  able  to  escape  papa's 
ponderous  friend  after  we  once  make  our  appearance 
upon  the  scene."  So  in  the  orchard  the  sorely 
troubled  three  held  secret  conclave. 

58 


A  Recognition  and  a  Dinner 

"  Uf  id  vasn't  Suntay !  "  Lena  kept  groaning,  "  or 
uf  id  vas  breakfas'  alretty  instet  of  dinner,  ven  tings 
get  chopped  all  up  mit  demselves  so  peoples  don't 
know  vat  tings  dey  com'  eat;  but  der  dinner,  Him- 
mel !  Und  dat  old  mans,  he  eat — ach !  I  know  he 
eat  like  dot  great  hop-up-on-to-mus  at  der  park! 
Himmel !  " 

And  Sybil  threatened.  "  Dorrie !  Dorrie !  stop 
laughing  this  moment !  Don't  you  dare  grow  hysteri- 
cal !  Lena,  hold  your  tongue,  and  only  answer  direct 
questions.  One  chicken,  you  say  ?  Only  one  ?  For 
five  people  ?  Dear  heaven  !  But,  Lena,  has  mamma 
her  head  bandaged  up  yet?  Yes?  Oh,  joy!  She 
need  have  no  helping,  then!  She  will  be  too  sick, 
you  see !  " 

"  Nein !  nein !  "  cried  Lena,  "  der  mistress  lofes  der 
dinner  too  mooch !  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  all  that,"  sternly  answered  Sybil, 
"  but  she  will  restrain  her  appetite  to-day  for  the  repu- 
tation of  her  house !  Dorrie,  you  must  manage  that 
mamma  demands  in  her  most  plaintive  tone  some  very 
thin  toast  and  some  tea,  and  she  must  shiver  daintily 
at  the  merest  suggestion  of  dinner.  Promise  her  eggs 
for  late  supper,  to  comfort  her." 

Lena  was  for  broiling  their  solitary  chicken,  but  a 
cry  of  condemnation  burst  from  Dorothy.  "  Broil  it  ? 
Never!  It  must  be  eked  out  in  some  way.  Lena, 
you  can  fry  it — can't  you?  And  make  a  great  deal 
of  cream  sauce,  and  have  some  diamonds  of  toast 
around  the  edge  of  the  dish  to  make  it  look  full  ?  " 

"  Ja !  "  nodded  the  willing  Lena,  "  but  dat  young 

59 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

hens  only  make  four  goot  pieces  for  all  dat  gravy 
sauce ;  und  you  can't  be  sick  too,  my  Miss  Ladies !  " 

"Oh!"  cried  Sybil.  "Listen,  Dorrie,  listen! 
Lena,  was  there  not  a  bit  of  veal  left  from  dinner  yes- 
terday ?  " 

"  Ja ! "  answered  Lena,  "  but  dat  goes  mit  de  oder 
scraps  to  be  chopped  for  der  breakfas' !  " 

"  No,  no !  "  interrupted  Sybil,  "  put  them  on  the 
platter  with  the  chicken ;  cover  them  well  with  sauce 
and  drop  a  tiny  morsel  of  parsley  on  each  piece  to 
mark  it;  and  we  will  coach  papa,  Dorrie,  to  help  us 
to  the  parsley  marked  portions  without  letting  the 
old  dear  know  just  why,  and  with  a  little  care  on  our 
part  no  one  need  guess  we  are  not  eating  chicken. 
That  will  leave  the  whole  of  it  for  the  gentlemen,  and 
Mr.  Bulkley  can  have  the  second  helping  he  will  want, 
for  you  can  cook  a  chicken  a  la  Maryland  as  well  as 
any  aunty,  Lena !  "  Then  they  agreed  that  neither 
one  of  them  would  care  for  salad  that  day,  but  might 
freely  indulge  in  coffee,  though  sharing  very  delicately 
in  dessert.  And  so,  patting  Lena's  sturdy  shoulder 
in  sign  of  their  trust  and  gratitude,  they  picked  up 
from  the  grass  their  shabby  old  prayer-books,  and 
presently  made  demure  appearance,  coming  slowly  up 
the  steep  path  that  led  to  the  weary,  sagging,  old 
porch. 

And  William  Henry  Bulkley,  who  for  the  last  half 
hour  had  been  calling  himself  every  kind  of  a  fool, 
ran  his  greedy  old  eyes  over  the  tempting  loveliness 
of  Dorothy  and  changed  his  mind  suddenly,  feeling 
that  the  boredom  caused  by  John  and  Letitia  Lawton 

60 


A  Recognition  and  a  Dinner 

was  not  too  high  a  pric£  to  pay  for  the  pleasure  of 
loitering  by  the  side  of  this  wonderful  girl.  And  so 
he  made  his  devoirs  in  most  expansive  fashion;  cast 
dust  in  Mr.  Lawton's  mild  blue  eyes  by  referring,  in 
quite  a  fatherly  tone,  to  his  daughters  as  little  Dorrie 
and  Sybbie,  was  deferential  in  the  extreme  to  Sybil, 
and  confessed  to  a  distinct  recollection  of  every  horse, 
every  equipage,  of  Mrs.  Lawton's  ownership  in  the 
past,  even  to  one  or  two  she  had  owned  only  in  her 
imagination.  But  never,  she  observed,  did  he  for  one 
moment  lose  sight  of  Dorothy. 

At  last  Sybil,  like  a  pitying  angel,  placed  herself  be- 
tween Mr.  Bulkley  and  her  mother's  slippers,  and  cov- 
ered that  lady's  retreat  to  her  own  room  to  arrange 
herself  for  dinner.  And  it  was  Sybil  who  had  sternly 
to  replace  the  bandage  and  coach  the  hungry  and  irate 
mother  in  her  part  of  delicate  sufferer,  closing  the 
scene  with  the  words :  "  I  know,  darling,  you're  too 
proud  to  allow  anyone  to  guess  at  the  straits  we  are 
in."  Then,  kissing  the  hungry  tears  from  her 
mother's  eyes,  she  added :  "  Just  say  to  yourself,  now 
and  then, '  Eggs !  eggs  ! '  and  that  will  keep  your  cour- 
age up — that  and  the  knowledge  that  you  are  the  only 
woman  alive  who  can  wear  a  handkerchief  about  her 
forehead  and  yet  look  pretty." 

And  Letitia  simpered,  and  sprinkled  a  little  bay-rum 
on  her  hair  to  suggest  headache;  ate  a  handful  of 
crackers  to  take  off  the  sharp  edge  of  her  keen  appe- 
tite, and  languidly  descended  to  the  distinctly  musty 
parlor. 

Dorothy  had  desired  to  go  for  a  few  wild  flowers 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

for  the  table,  but  she  had  not  escaped  from  William 
Henry  Bulkley.  In  all  the  immaculate  glory  of  his 
spring  attire,  as  tightly  trussed  up  as  a  large  fowl  ready 
for  the  oven,  he  walked  at  her  side  when  the  path  per- 
mitted, and  breathed  stertorously  behind  her  when  it 
wouldn't.  And  when  with  a  cry  of  joy  she  discovered 
that  a  twisted  old  hawthorn  had  actually  hung  out 
some  garlands  of  snowy  blossoms,  he  nearly  had  an 
apoplexy  from  his  frantic  efforts  to  obtain  them  for 
her.  He  loaded  her  with  fulsome  compliments,  and 
he  looked  so  strangely  at  her  that  the  poor  child  hur- 
ried back  to  the  house,  vowing  it  was  the  last  time 
she  would  go  out  with  him,  if  he  were  papa's  friend 
twenty  times  over ;  and  passing  him  over  to  mamma 
in  the  parlor,  she  hastily  arranged  her  handful  of  blos- 
soms for  the  centre  of  the  table,  and  captured  her 
father  and  instructed  him  as  to  the  serving  of  the 
chicken.  As  she  spoke  a  trembling  came  upon  his 
weak  mouth,  and  his  pained  blue  eyes  looked  away 
over  her  head.  She  put  a  pink-tipped  fore-finger  on 
his  lip  and  said,  low:  "Don't,  papa,  don't!  It's  all 
right]  only  dear,  dear  papa,  you  won't  forget,  will 
you  now — for  Syb  and  me  the  portions  with  the  bits 
of  green — you  understand,  papa  ?  " 

And  he  sighed  and  answered  bitterly :  "  Yes,  I  un- 
derstand !  God  knows  I  understand ! " 

At  last,  then,  they  sat  at  table.  Sybil,  holding  her 
hatchet  behind  her  in  temporary  amity,  glowed  and 
sparkled,  cheerfully  proclaimed  her  interest  in  the  cult 
of  delicate  feeding,  and  boldly  challenged  judgment 
on  the  principal  dish  before  them,  the  chicken  a  /a 

63 


A  Recognition  and  a  Dinner 

Maryland,  sorely  frightening  her  family  by  her  reck- 
less daring.  But  Mr.  Bulkley,  with  Dorothy's  wistful 
blue  eyes  upon  him,  without  hesitation  gallantly  de- 
clared it  could  not  be  equalled  this  side  of  Mason  and 
Dixon's  line ;  and,  to  poor  Lena's  sorrow,  proved  his 
sincerity  by  accepting  a  second  helping,  which  was 
hard  on  that  help-maiden,  who  had  not  even  eggs  to 
look  forward  to  later  on. 

But  Mrs.  Lawton's  shiver  of  repulsion  at  the  of- 
fered soup  and  her  faint  consent  to  the  making  of  a 
little  thin  toast — "  oh,  very,  very  thin " — were  so 
cleverly  done  that  both  girls  mentally  promised  her 
a  hug  and  a  kiss  by  and  by.  And  William  Henry 
Bulkley,  who  lived  solely  for  physical  comfort  and 
mental  excitement,  and  was  enjoying  both  at  that  mo- 
ment, beamed  and  sympathized  and  complimented 
and  ogled,  and  finally  left  the  table  swept  so  bare  of 
food  that  the  very  locusts  of  Egypt  might  have  gained 
points  from  the  completeness  of  his  ravages.  And 
when  with  grateful  hearts  the  Lawtons  saw  his  red 
face  smiling  "  good-by  "  from  the  gorgeous  trap,  as 
it  went  glittering  down  the  drive,  John  went  directly 
to  his  beloved  willow,  Letitia  flew  to  the  dining-room, 
but  Sybil,  dashing  her  fist  upon  the  porch  railing, 
cried,  with  white  lips :  "  Oh,  what  a  tawdry  farce  life 
has  become  for  us !  Dorothy  Lawton,  I  go  to  Miss 
Morrell's  to-morrow!  If  she  helps  me — good!  If 
she  does  not,  I'll  kill  myself!  I  swear  I  will!  Oh, 
mamma — Lena !  Come  quick !  Dorrie  has  fainted !  " 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   PRAYER  AND   A   PROMISE 

Next  day,  in  spite  of  the  faint  her  sister  had  fright- 
ened her  into,  Dorothy's  cheeks  and  lips  wore  their 
usual  clear,  bright  color,  and  it  was  Sybil's  face  that 
seemed  drained  of  blood  down  to  the  edges  of  her  scar- 
let lips,  while  faint  violet  shadows  lay  beneath  her 
brooding  dark  eyes.  True  to  the  resolve  formed  the 
evening  before,  she  prepared  herself,  early  in  the  day, 
for  a  walk  over  to  Riverdale  Avenue.  She  did  not  ask 
Dorothy  to  go  with  her,  but  when  the  latter  noted  the 
preparations  being  made,  she  cast  down  the  paper  she 
was  dawdling  over  and  herself  made  ready  to  go  out, 
and  Sybil  put  her  arm  about  her  sister's  neck  for  a  mo- 
ment, in  sign  of  gratitude  for  her  companionship,  and 
together  they  started  forth  to  make  the  fateful  call. 

As  they  scrambled  through  the  stony  lane  that  made 
a  short  cut  for  them  Dorothy  said :  "  Did  you  pray  to 
God  to  help  you,  Sybbie  ?  I  did." 

"  Oh !  "  recklessly  replied  Sybil.    "  I  notice  God  gen- 
erally helps  those  who  help  themselves !  " 

"  You  mean,"  corrected  Dorothy,  "  who  try  to  help 
themselves.  All  one  can  do  by  one's  own  self,  Syb,  is 
just  to  try.  But  God  always  keeps  His  promises,  and 

64 


A  Prayer  and  a  Promise 

will  surely  give  help  if  you  ask  for  it,  believing  in 
Him.  And  you  do  believe — you  do,  don't  you  dear  ?  " 

Sybil  shot  a  quick  sidelong  glance  at  her  sister,  hesi- 
tated a  moment,  then  stopped,  bent  her  head,  and  whis- 
pered, rapidly :  "  Lord !  dear  Lord !  who  seems  always 
so  far  off,  hear  me,  I  pray !  Soften  this  woman's  heart 
toward  me,  incline  her  to  help  me,  not  because  of  any 
merit,  but  because  of  my  great  need.  In  your  blessed 
Son's  name  I  ask  it.  Amen !  " 

And  then  she  hurried  on  ahead,  while  Dorothy, 
radiant  with  faith,  scrabbled  and  slipped  and  laughed 
quite  happily  as  they  came  out  upon  the  wide,  shady 
avenue,  short  of  breath  but  sound  of  limb  and  skirt  and 
shoe.  As  they  passed  the  big  gate  and  walked  slowly 
up  the  driveway  of  The  Beeches  they  saw  a  large  red 
sunshade  go  bobbing  around  the  corner  of  the  house 
and  halted. 

"  Shall  we  go  on  and  ring  the  bell,"  asked  Dorothy, 
"  or  shall  we  venture  to  follow  her  ?  " 

"  No !  no !  "  answered  Sybil.  "  The  last  refuge  of 
the  genteel  beggar  who  comes  to  ask  a  favor  is  an  ab- 
solute propriety  of  behavior — strict  conformity  to  the 
demands  of  etiquette.  To  follow  and  join  our  hostess 
in  her  garden  would  be  delightfully  informal,  but  it 
would  be  too  suggestive  of  familiarity.  No !  no !  We 
must  ring  the  bell  and  pass  in  a  few  ounces  of  paste- 
board to  the  housemaid  or  the  boy  or " 

But  just  then  there  came  a  sound  like  a  splash  of 
something  into  water,  a  scream  that  trailed  off  into  a 
gurgle  of  laughter,  and  finally  clear  and  distinct  the 
words :  "  You  abominable  little  beast — poor  angel ! 

65 


A   Pasteboard  Crown 

Hold  still !  You're  wetting  me  all  over,  far  worse  than 
the  lawn  sprinkler !  "  And  around  the  corner  of  the 
house  came  their  hostess,  her  skirts  wound  well  about 
her,  while  from  her  two  outstretched  hands  dangled 
and  kicked  a  muddy,  dripping,  coughing,  spitting  mor- 
sel of  a  skye-terrier.  The  three  women  gazed  at  one 
another  a  moment  and  then  burst  into  laughter. 

"  If  you  will  rest  a  little  on  the  veranda — there  are 
seats  there — I  will  join  you  the  moment  I  am  divorced 
from  this  small  martyr  to  scientific  research.  No 
levity,  please,  Miss  Dorothy."  Then  suddenly  lift- 
ing her  voice  Miss  Morrell  cried :  "  Frida !  Mary ! 
M — a — r — y !  Somebody  come  here,  please  !  "  and 
swiftly  resumed  her  reproachfully  explanatory  tone, 
saying :  "  This  animated  bit  of  mud  is,  when  washed 
and  dried,  a  very  earnest  student  of  biology,  or,  to  be 
more  exact,  of  zoology,  since  she  is  most  deeply  inter- 
ested in  the  structure  and  daily  habits  of  the  fugacious 
frog,  which,  up  to  this  time,  she  has  considered  a  ter- 
restrial beast,  inhabiting  shady  garden  beds ;  but  now 
she  knows  him  to  be  amphibious ;  has  proved  it,  in- 
deed, by  plunging  after  him  into  the  muddy  depths  of 
the  lily  tub,  just  to  see  for  herself,  you  know.  There's 
devotion  to  study !  Oh,  Frida,  here  you  are,  at  last ! 
Take  Mona  and  put  her  kindly  but  very  firmly  into  her 
tub,  no  soap,  you  know,  just  a  thorough  rinsing — and 
then  dry  her  as  you  would  be  dried,  that  is,  tenderly. 
Miss  Dorothy,  I'm  afraid  you  are  what  the  old  comedies 
call '  a  frivol.'  "  And  so  with  light  banter  they  entered 
the  house. 

But  Miss  Morrell,  being  an  observant  person,  saw 


A  Prayer  and  a  Promise 

from  the  first  the  preoccupation  of  Sybil,  and  to  her  the 
girl's  paleface,  cloudy  hair,  insistent  dark  eyes,  and  sul- 
len red  mouth,  suggested  a  touch  of  tragedy,  and  again 
she  asked  herself:  "What  does  she  want?  What  is 
she  demanding  of  me  ?  " 

Dorothy,  in  answer  to  Sybil's  look,  was  trying  to 
find  some  excuse  for  leaving  the  two  together,  and  had 
just  expressed  a  desire  to  cross  the  lawn  to  look  at  a 
very  fine  hawthorn  when  they  saw  a  young  woman 
coming  up  the  steps  and  heard  a  ring  of  the  doorbell. 
Claire  Morrell's  eyes  happened  to  be  upon  Sybil's  at 
the  moment,  and  the  look  of  despair  that  settled 
whitely  down  upon  her  face  made  her  think,  with  a 
quickening  pulse,  "  That's  just  the  expression  of  face 
many  a  woman  must  have  seen  reflected  from  the  clear 
water  a  moment  before  the  fatal  plunge."  And  going 
swiftly  forward  to  greet  the  new-comer,  who  was  her 
neighbor,  she  decided  to  give  Miss  Lawton  a  chance  to 
speak  with  her  alone  if  she  so  desired.  Therefore,  di- 
rectly introductions  had  been  made,  she  asked  Miss 
Helen  Gray  if  she  would  not  show  Miss  Dorothy  about 
a  bit,  and,  laughingly  joining  their  hands,  she  shoo'd 
them  before  her,  crying :  "  Go  forth,  lovers  of  flowers, 
and  seek  diligently  for  the  oriole  that  hideth  the  nest  in 
mine  orchard !  A  prize  awaits  the  fair,  the  chaste,  the 
inexpressive  she  who  first  locates  that  nest !  " 

And  as  they  went  willingly  forth  Miss  Morrell  re- 
turned to  the  parlor,  pushing  to  the  door  nearest  the 
stairs,  and  remarked,  casually :  "  We've  got  the  whole 
floor  to  ourselves,  now,  so  we  may  expand !  " 

Then,  with  a  jerk  and  apropos  of  nothing,  Sybil 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

asked :  "  Miss  Morrell,  is  it  very  difficult  to  get  upon 
the  stage  ?  " 

A  flash  came  from  the  blue  eyes  of  the  actress,  and 
her  lip  curled  contemptuously  as  she  answered :  "  Oh, 
no!  If  a  woman  has  been  party  to  a  particularly  of- 
fensive scandal,  or  to  a  shooting,  or  has  come  straight 
from  the  divorce  court,  then  she  turns  quite  naturally 
to  the  stage-door,  which  seems  to  open  readily  to  her 
touch — such  is  the  baneful  power  of  notoriety.  But 
your  respectable,  clean-minded  girl,  who  wishes  to 
enter  a  theatre  of  high  standing,  will  find  it  easier  to 
break  through  the  wall,  removing  brick  by  brick,  than 
to  open  unaided  the  door  closed  against  her." 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  cried  Sybil,  in  a  pained  voice,  "  don't 
jest!  I  am  in  earnest!  I — I — I  want  to  go  on  the 
stage,  Miss  Morrell.  Can  you,  will  you,  help  me?  " 

"  Certainly  not !  "  came  the  swift  answer.  "  Help  to 
the  stage  a  young  girl  who  has  a  father  and  a  mother 
and  a  good  home  ?  Be  grateful  for  them,  and " 

But  her  words  were  crossed  by  a  shrill  laugh  and 
the  bitter  cry :  "  '  A  good  home ! '  Dear  God,  hear  her ! 
'  A  good  home !  "  '  And  Sybil  clasped  her  throat  with 
both  hands  to  choke  back  the  strangling  sobs  that  were 
following  that  laugh. 

Claire  Morrell  rose,  and,  swiftly  crossing  to  her 
guest,  remarked:  "You  are  not  well."  Then,  quite 
ignoring  the  gasped :  "  Oh,  yes,  I  am !  I  am  well 
enough,"  she  drew  out  the  long  pins  securing  it,  lifted 
the  heavy  hat  from  Sybil's  head,  and,  running  her  long 
fingers  through  the  dark  waves,  said,  gently :  "  What 
is  it,  child?" 

68 


A  Prayer  and  a  Promise 

And  Sybil  threw  her  arms  about  the  actress's  waist, 
crying :  "  May  I  tell  you  ?  Will  you  listen  ?  "  A  mo- 
ment's pause;  then,  with  a  swiftly  clouding  face,  she 
continued :  "  But,  what's  the  use,  you  will  not  under- 
stand my  trouble !  If  death  had  robbed  me — if  a  lover 
had  deserted  me — any  great  disaster  would  touch  your 
heart !  But  you,  who  are  rich,  successful,  secure,  can- 
not be  expected  to  understand  the  shame,  the  humilia-, 
tion,  the  suffering  caused  by  mere  poverty !  And  yet, 
it  is  genteel  poverty  that  is  crushing  out  the  lives  of  al) 
those  who  are  dear  to  me !  That  is  my  trouble,  but," 
she  let  her  arms  drop  heavily  away  from  the  waist  they 
had  clasped,  "  you  cannot  understand !  " 

Claire  Morrell  stood  tall  in  her  soft  amber  gown, 
looking  down  into  the  troubled  eyes  lifted  to  her  face. 
A  half  quizzical,  half  tender  smile  was  on  her  lips. 
"  You  must  not  jump  so  hastily  to  your  conclusions, 
Miss  Lawton,"  she  said.  "  I  am  very  comfortable  now, 
it  is  true.  I  have  sufficient  to  eat,  to  wear,  but  I  have 
known  the  time  when  I  had  neither."  As  Sybil's  eyes 
widened,  she  went  on :  "  You  think  you  know  poverty  ? 
Well,  have  you  ever  wandered  about  the  city  streets, 
clinging  to  the  fingers  of  a  mother  who  staggered  with 
weakness,  while  she  searched  for  work — for  shelter? 
Have  you  felt  the  pinch  of  cold,  the  gnawing,  the  actual 
pangs  of  hunger?  Once  Death  and  I  were  kept  apart 
by  a  single  slice  of  bread.  I  think  you  may  go  on,  my 
dear,  for  I  have  matriculated,  and  can  well  understand. 
Thank  you,  dear !  "  For  Sybil  had  caught  the  speaker's 
hand,  and,  with  quick  sympathy,  had  pressed  it  to  her 
lips. 

69 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

And  as  the  actress  sank  down  beside  her,  on  the  dark 
red  cushions,  Sybil  poured  forth  all  the  story  of  her 
early  luxury,  her  aimless  education,  their  ever-deepen- 
ing poverty,  the  isolation  of  her  sister  and  herself,  her 
mother's  obstinate  determination  not  to  let  them  work, 
confessing  even  to  her  own  dark  thoughts  and  wicked 
threats,  should  this  one  hope  be  taken  from  her. 

"  For,  you  see,"  said  she,  "  I  can  do  nothing  else — 
nothing,  nothing!  But  I  am  young,  I  have  intelligence, 
I  have  good  common  sense.  I  don't  expect  ever  to  be  a 
crowned  queen  of  the  stage,  but  might  not  I  be  one  of 
the  little  people  that  are  required  in  so  many  plays  ?  I 
think  I  might,  for,  oh,  Miss  Morrell,  I  do  believe  I 
could  act !  " 

And  noticing  the  swift  play  of  expression  on  the 
vivid  young  face  before  her,  that  lady  answered, 
quietly :  "  Yes,  and  I  believe  so,  too." 

Sybil  clasped  her  hands,  fairly  gasping  the  words: 
"  You  will  help  me,  then  ?  " 

"  Wait !  wait !  "  cried  the  other.  "  You  are  again 
jumping  too  quickly.  I  do  not  refuse  entirely  to  con- 
sider your  wishes ;  but,  my  dear  girl,  before  I  lift  one 
finger,  speak  one  word  in  your  behalf,  I  must  have  the 
assurance  that  you  are  acting  with  the  full  approval,  or 
at  least  with  the  consent,  of  your  parents.  No !  No !  " 
raising  her  hand  imperatively,  "  don't  coax,  it  would 
be  useless,  it  would  be  unpardonable,  dishonorable,  to 
assist  a  daughter  to  enter  a  profession  that  her  father 
and  mother  disapproved  of." 

Sybil  leaned  forward,  and  clutching  a  fold  of  the 
amber  gown,  asked,  with  dry  lips :  "  And — and,  if  I  win 

70 


A   Prayer  and  a  Promise 

their  consent?  Oh,  Miss  Morrell,  Miss  Morrell,  what 
then  ?  "  She  trembled  all  over  with  excitement. 

The  actress,  looking  back  to  the  days  of  her  own  des- 
perate struggle,  felt  a  great  pity  for  this  poor  child,  who 
was  so  eager  to  rush,  all  unarmed,  into  the  fray — a  pity 
and  a  dread.  "  Child,"  she  said,  earnestly,  almost 
piteously,  "  promise  me  that  in  the  future  you  will 
never  blame  me  for  opening  the  stage-door  to  you.  No 
matter  what  happens,  promise  to  hold  me  in  kindly, 
even  forgiving  memory,  if  need  be !  " 

And  Sybil  said,  fervently:  "  I  shall  worship  you  all 
your  life  and  honor  and  revere  you  my  own  life 
through,  if  of  your  mercy  you  make  me  a  bread-win- 
ner!" 

"  Had  you  come  to  me  one  week  ago,"  continued 
Miss  Morrell,  "  I  could  have  given  you  a  small  posi- 
tion in  my  company  for  next  season,  but  a  young 
widow,  who  has  never  looked  upon  the  footlights  yet, 
came  before  you,  and,  well,  she  will  undertake  the 
small  parts  you  might  have  experimented  with.  Don't 
look  so  hopeless !  When  your  father  and  mother  have 
consented  to  the  step  we  will  go  down  to  the  city  to  do 
a  little  shopping,  and  we  will  just  happen  in  at  a  cer- 
tain threatre  where  I  have  often  played,  and  I  will 
present  you  to  its  manager,  and  will  speak  a  little  word 
for  you,  and  perhaps  he  may  give  you  the  chance  you 
long  for.  Child!  child!  Rise  this  moment!  Kneel 
only  to  your  God !  Quick !  Here  are  the  others !  Go 
over  to  that  farthest  mirror  and  put  on  your  hat !  Well, 
what  luck  ?  "  as  the  girls  came  in,  flushed  and  laugh- 
ing. "  WThat,  you  really  found  the  nest  ?  " 

71 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

"  Yes,"  said  Dorothy ;  "  but  you  misled  us.  It  was 
not  in  the  orchard,  but  hanging  from  the  tip  of  an  elm- 
bough  this  side  the  orchard  wall." 

"  And  who  won  the  prize?  "  smilingly  inquired  Miss 
Morrell. 

"  Miss  Lawton  did,"  said  Miss  Gray.  "  My  neck 
soon  grew  tired,  and  I  gave  up  staring  upward." 

"  Then  behold  the  reward  of  the  patient  searcher 
and  the  strong  of  neck !  "  And  Miss  Morrell  handed 
Dorothy  a  silver  souvenir  spoon,  bearing  on  the  bowl 
an  etched  picture  of  The  Beeches. 

"  Oh,  how  pretty !  "  exclaimed  the  recipient.  "  Sybil, 
see !  Is  this  not  charming  ?  "  And  as  her  sister  turned 
to  look  at  the  bit  of  silver  Miss  Morrell  was  positively 
amazed  at  the  brilliant  beauty  of  the  girl's  face  when 
hope-illumined !  As  the  Lawtons  withdrew,  Sybil,  who 
passed  out  last,  looked  at  her  Woman  of  Fate  with 
luminous  worshipping  eyes,  and  whispered :  "  God  was 
very  good  when  He  created  you !  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"  TELL   HER  YOU  HAVE  MY   PERMISSION  " 

When  the  girls  Had  returned  from  their  call  on  the 
actress  they  were  met  at  the  door  by  a  wildly  excited, 
tearfully  angry  Lena :  "  Oh,  my  Miss  Ladies !  "  she 
cried.  "  Vat  you  tink  now  ?  Vas  I  a  mans  I  could  say 
tam !  But  I'm  youst  a  vomans,  so  I  cry  mit  my  eyes ! 
Dose  mens  of  der  gas  houses  com  und  dey  make  mit 
de  bill  und  vant  money  right  now  dis  minute  down. 
Und  I  say  der  Herr  Boss  he's  out,  und  der  Frau  Mis- 
tress comes  in  der  bed  mit  der  headaches,  und  de  Miss 
Ladies  go  visitin'  mit  dat  big  actor  lady's  over  yonter, 
und  dey  shall  put  de  bill  on  der  mantel-poard  unter 
dat  clock,  dot  doan't  go  no  more!  Und  dot  smarty 
mans,  he  gif  big  laughs,  und  say,  '  Oh,  no !  dot  plan's 
like  de  clock,  it  doan't  go ! '  Und  he  say  gif  him  right 
avay  quick  de  pay  for  der  gas !  Und  I  say,  Did  he  tink 
I  carry  de  gas  money  in  my  clothes  ?  Und  den  dey  say 
dey  cut  off  dot  gas — cut  it  short  off  unless  dey  hav'  de 
money.  Und  dey  shov'  me  avay  und  go  down  in  der 
cellar,  und  for  sure,  my  Miss  Ladies,  I  haven't  seen 
dem  mens  cut  nodings  at  all.  But  after  dot  dey  take 
avay  demselves,  I  youst  go  to  light  der  dark  entry  vay 
out  dere,  and  oh!  oh!  der  gas  don't  light  it  it  don't 
even  make  no  smells,  und  dose  men  did  cut  off  dot 
gas,  und  carry  it  off  mit  'em !  Und  we  ain't  got  only 

73 


A   Pasteboard   Crown 

vun  candles  in  der  house!  And  [sobbing  loudly]  uf 
anybody  in  der  fam'ly  should  be  took  to  die,  all  un- 
expec'  like,  it  vill  be  in  der  dark  to-night — you  see, 
now !  " 

Perhaps  Sybil's  courage  might  have  required  a  little 
time  to  tighten  it  up  to  the  sticking  point,  but  this  tale 
of  Lena's  was  like  a  sharp  goad  pricking  her  forward. 
Throwing  off  her  hat  she  said :  "  Lena,  go  make  me  a 
cup  of  coffee!  Miss  Dorothy  will  give  you  some 
change  to  buy  a  few  candles  for  to-night."  And  as 
Lena  trotted  off  to  the  kitchen  Dorothy  asked :  "  Shall 
you  want  me,  Sybbie  ?  "  And  as  a  shaken  head  was 
her  only  answer,  she  picked  up  her  sister's  hat  and 
slowly  turned  away.  At  the  stairs  she  looked  back  and 
said :  "  If  you  should  want  me,  I'll  be  in  our  room 
waiting." 

And  the  set.  frowning  face  of  Sybil  softened  for  a 
moment,  and  she  answered,  gently :  "  Thank  you,  Dor- 
rie !  I  know  you  will  be  wishing  me  success !  " 

And,  satisfied  with  a  kind  word,  Dorothy  ascended 
to  her  own  room,  and  presently  heard  the  high  shrill 
voice  of  her  mother,  crying  out  against  "  needless 
ignominy "  and  "  degradation,"  caught  the  words 
"  strollers,  play-actors,"  "  constables,"  "  depths  of 
vulgarity,"  "  painted  caricatures,"  and  "  serpent- 
tooth,"  and  then  suddenly  the  long  wavering  shriek 
and  laugh  of  hysteria ;  and,  knowing  that  Sybil  needed 
help  by  that  time,  she  softly  entered  the  room  and  held 
her  mother's  beating  hands,  while  Sybil  administered 
soothing  drops,  applied  a  bit  of  plaster  here  and  there 
to  the  self-inflicted  scratches,  and  fastened  a  cologne- 

74 


cc 


Tell  Her  You  have  My  Permission 


soaked  handkerchief  tightly  about  the  doubtless  aching 
head.  But  after  the  girls  had  placed  her  in  bed  she 
suddenly  lifted  her  head  and  said,  resentfully :  "  Miss 
Morrell  might  at  least  have  called  on  me  before  talk- 
ing things  over  seriously  with  you  girls.  I've  been  fifty 
times  better  off  than  she  is !  She  may  be  a  very  great 
actress,  but  her  social  usages  are  all  wrong,  I  can  tell 
her  that !  And  she  can  call  on  me,  or  you  can  keep  off 
the  stage  all  your  life,  Sybil  Lawton !  " 

And  with  violently  restrained  laughter  the  girls  stole 
out  of  the  room,  leaving  their  mother  to  enjoy  a  nap. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Dorothy,  when  they  had  locked  them- 
selves into  their  own  room,  "  was  not  that  mamma  all 
over  ?  Now  it  is  Miss  Morrell  who  is  trying  to  induce 
you  to  go  on  the  stage,  and  mamma  will  not  consent 
unless  she  is  called  upon  in  state  by  the  famous  sup- 
pliant !  Oh,  it  is  funny !  " 

But  Sybil's  laugh  was  not  hearty.  She  was  think- 
ing of  her  father,  whose  coming  she  waited  anxiously ; 
and  when  at  last  they  were  out  on  the  porch,  alone  in 
the  sweet  June  dusk,  she,  leaning  back  against  the  rail- 
ing, said,  suddenly :  "  Dada !  " 

John  Lawton  started  at  the  word.  In  an  instant  his 
memory  presented  him  the  picture  of  his  handsome, 
vexed  young  wife  as  she  fretted  over  the  dark-eyed 
baby's  persistent  use  of  "  dada  "  instead  of  papa ;  and 
his  blue  old  eyes  were  very  tender  as  they  looked  at  the 
speaker  expectantly. 

"  I  went  over  to  call  upon  Miss  Morrell  to-day." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  pleased  tone.  "  I'm  sure 
you  found  her  a  charming  companion  ?  " 

75 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

"  She  ?  "  exclaimed  Sybil.  "  She  is  the  best,  she  is 
the  kindest  woman  in  the  whole  world  !  " 

"  It's  a  habit  with  you,  dear,  to  indulge  in  somewhat 
hasty  conclusions.  And  you  are  a  little  extravagant, 
too,  are  you  not  ?  I  have  heard  some  very  pretty  stories 
of  Miss  Morrell's  kindness  to  the  people  about  here, 
but '  the  whole  world  '  ?  " 

He  smiled  indulgently,  and  was  going  on  to  complete 
his  remark,  when,  noticing  the  tightly  clasped  hands, 
the  eager  manner  of  his  daughter,  he  paused,  and, 
quick  as  a  flash,  she  flung  herself  into  the  story  of  the 
day.  Once  only  he  moved,  once  only  he  spoke.  When 
first  she  declared  her  intention  of  going  on  the  stage 
he  cried  "  Sybil !  "  then  clasped  his  hand  about  his  lips 
and  chin  and  said  no  other  word. 

She  was  passionately  portraying  their  hopeless, 
friendless  state,  when  he  turned  restlessly  in  his  chair, 
and  murmured :  "  Why  doesn't  Lena  light  the  gas — 
the  house  looks  so  dreary  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  why  ?  "  cried  Sybil.  "  Why,  because  there 
is  no  gas  to  light.  The  bill  was  not  paid  to-day !  Oh ! 
see — see,  dear!  Something  must  be  done!  And  I'm 
the  only  one  to  do  it,  you  know  that !  " 

Faintly  a  groaned  "  Oh,  God !  Oh,  God !  "  came  to 
her  ear,  and  she  cried :  "  Don't  misunderstand !  Oh, 
dada,  don't !  There  was  no  reproach  in  that !  I  only 
mean  I'm  so  well  and  strong  I  ought  to  help,  at  least, 
myself!" 

"  It's  a  hard  life,"  he  whispered. 

"  No  harder  for  me  than  for  other  girls,"  she  an- 
swered. 

70' 


"Tell  Her  You  have  My  Permission" 

"  You  might  fail — you  might,  you  know  ?  " 

"  Even  so,"  responded  Sybil,  "  it  would  be  more 
brave,  more  honorable  to  try  and  fail  than  not  to  try 
at  all,  but  be  content  to  cling  like  a  parasitical  growth 
to  you  and  mamma,  stealing  from  your  vitality !  " 

He  turned  his  pale  face  to  her,  and  said :  "  There 
speaks  my  father,  through  your  lips.  The  courage,  the 
spirit,  that  passed  by  me  reappears  in  you,  a  girl !  " 
Again  he  turned  away,  and  silence  fell.  She  had  rea- 
soned, argued,  entreated.  Had  it  all  been  in  vain  ?  she 
asked  herself.  At  last  she  faltered :  "  Dada,  are  you 
going  to  refuse  your  consent  ?  Shall  you  forbid  me  ?  " 

He  turned  upon  her  in  a  white  passion  of  misery: 
"  Refuse  you  ?  Forbid  you  ?  What  right  have  I  to  for- 
bid anything  ?  Fathers  who  bring  honor  to  the  family 
name,  who  support,  shelter,  and  protect  their  children, 
have  earned  the  right  to  guide  them — to  forbid  them 
for  their  good !  But  what  right  have  I  ?  My  father 
gave  me  a  fortune — I  was  too  weak  to  hold  it!  God 
gave  me  daughters,  and  I  am  too  weak  to  protect 
them !  "  His  head  fell  upon  his  breast,  he  extended  his 
trembling  old  hands  to  her,  and  abjectly  murmured: 
"  Pardon  me,  my  daughter !  pardon  me !  " 

In  an  instant  his  shamed  old  face  was  resting  above 
the  high-beating  young  heart  of  his  child.  She 
smoothed  back  the  silvery  hair  from  his  lined  brow,  and 
said,  imperatively :  "  Dada,  answer  me  this  one  ques- 
tion, and  we  will  have  done.  Answer  truly !  Do  you 
believe  there  is  a  father,  great,  strong,  rich,  influential, 
in  this  city  to-night  who  is  more  truly,  reverently  loved 
than  you  are  ?  Tell  me !  " 

77 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

And  the  old  man  answered :  "  No !  no !  Though  I 
have  lost  everything  else  in  the  world,  my  children's 
love  remains  to  me.  That  is  the  one  sweet  drop  left  in 
the  bottom  of  the  cup !  It  is  compensation,  daughter, 
it  is  compensation !  " 

Sybil  rested  her  cheek  upon  his  head,  and  crooned 
over  him  as  though  he  were  a  sick  child,  until  the  young 
summer  night  lifted  her  mighty  silver  shield  high  above 
the  grewsome  black  trees,  then  a  peevish  voice  from 
above  called :  "  Sybil !  John  !  What  are  you  mooning 
over  down  there  ?  Why  on  earth  don't  you  come  in  out 
of  the  damp?  The  quinine  bottle's  more  than  half 
empty  now !  No  one  ever  seems  to  consider  ways  and 
means  in  this  house  unless  I  do !  And  John,  this  room's 
full  of  all  sorts  of  flopping,  flying  things !  They've  put 
the  candle  out  twice,  and  you  ought  to  come  up  here 
and  try  and  chase  'em  away !  Besides,  I — I  don't  want 
you  two  down  there,  anyway !  " 

John  answered,  obediently,  "  Yes,  Letitia !  "  But 
Sybil  laughed  a  short  laugh,  and  said :  "  The  wasp 
carries  his  sting  in  his  tail,  and  the  pith  of  mamma's 
remarks  are  generally  found  at  their  end.  No,  she 
doesn't  want  us  two  down  here  anyway!  Papa,  I 
knew  mamma  was  jealous  of  me  when  I  was  only  as 
high  as  your  knee,  and " 

But  her  father  put  his  finger  on  her  lip,  saying: 
"  Don't,  daughter ;  it  is  not  a  gracious  thing  to  speak 
of  a  mother's  faults." 

And  Sybil  said,  hastily :  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  papa !  " 
Then,  as  they  rose,  she  put  her  hands  on  his  shoul- 
ders and  asked,  very  prettily :  "  Papa,  will  you  not  in 


"Tell  Her  You  have  My  Permission" 

so  many  words  give  me  your  permission  to  try  for  a 
position  on  the  stage?  Miss  Morrell  will  not  move 
an  inch  without  it." 

"  She  is  a  good  woman,  an  honest  woman !  "  he  said. 
Then  he  put  his  hand  under  Sybil's  chin  and,  lifting 
her  face  to  the  moonlight,  looked  steadily  at  her  a 
long  moment,  sighed  heavily,  and  answered :  "  Since 
you  are  so  determined,  dear,  yes,  you  may  tell  Miss 
Morrell  you  are  acting  with  my  permission  in  seeking 
to  enter  her  profession."  And  he  put  her  quickly 
from  him  and  went  slowly  into  the  house,  stumbling 
up  the  stairs  in  the  darkness. 

And  Sybil  lifted  her  arms  above  her  head,  stretch- 
ing her  hands  up  toward  the  moon  in  a  very  ecstasy 
of  joy.  "  Oh,"  she  whispered,  "  am  I  to  escape  from 
this  '  slough  of  despond  ' — am  I  to  have  my  chance  in 
life  ?  Perhaps  I  may  become  successful,  happy  ?  " 

And  right  across  her  smiling,  upturned  face  a  hide- 
ous creature  of  the  night  flew  so  low,  so  near,  one 
leathery  wing  touched  her  loosened  hair.  She  flung 
her  hands  across  her  face  with  a  startled  cry,  then 
laughed  a  little  tremulously,  saying :  "  B-r-r-r !  a  bat 
— ugh  !  How  I  loathe  them  !  I — I  think  I'll  go  in  " 
and  she  entered  the  house,  closing  and  with  some  dif- 
ficulty locking  the  door  in  the  darkness. 

As  she  reached  the  top  step  of  the  stairs  a  door 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Lawton  in  her  undress  uniform  of 
mind  as  well  as  body,  a  guttering  candle  held  high 
above  her  head,  stood  enframed  in  the  door-way — 
Mrs.  Lawton  in  night-dress  and  knitted  bedroom  slip- 
pers, but  without  her  upper  teeth,  without  her  thick 

79 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

switch  of  hair,  without  her  rosy  bloom  of  rouge 
vinaigre ;  and  without  all  these  things  it  was  surpris- 
ing how  little  there  seemed  to  be  left  of  the  every-day 
familiar  Letitia  Lawton.  Looking  at  the  small,  sleek 
head ;  the  pallid,  sunken  face ;  the  flattened  figure — 
Sybil  thought,  rather  wickedly :  "  This  is  a  sort  of  skel- 
eton mamma.  I  wonder  if  papa  would  like  to  put  her 
in  the  closet?  " 

But  the  lady  was  addressing  her  querulously :  "  Oh, 
you  have  decided  it  to  be  worth  while  to  follow  a 
mother's  suggestion,  and  come  into  the  house  at  last  ? 
In  former  days  I  could  have  called  in  a  doctor  for 
every  chill  in  the  family,  even  for  the  servants — 
though,  to  tell  the  truth,  servants  rarely  have  real 
hearty  chills ;  indeed,  I  doubt  their  ability  to  contract 
genuine  malaria.  It's  a  mere  desire  to  imitate  their 
employers.  But  now  that  your  poor  father  has  lost 
everything — that  is,  everything  except  his  good  name 
[with  a  stinging  look  at  Sybil,  which  that  young  per- 
son understood  perfectly] — I  can  only  defend  the 
health  of  my  family  with  the  quinine  bottle,  and  I  do 
think  you  and  your  father  might  have  held  your  secret 
consultation  inside  the  house.  I'm  sure  neither 
Dorothy  nor  I  would  have  tried  to  pry ! " 

"  Oh,  mamma !  "  indignantly  exclaimed  Sybil,  "  you 
know  what  I  was  asking  of  papa !  " 

"  I  know !  "  broke  in  Mrs.  Lawton,  "  that  you  were 
twisting  him  about  your  little  ringer,  as  you  usually 
do.  It  is  not  for  a  father  to  decide  a  girl's  destiny, 
without  even  asking  the  mother's  advice.  You  two 
have  connived  together,  I  believe,  with  that  Morrell 

80 


"Tell  Her  You  have  My  Permission" 

woman,  who  has  not  even  called  upon  the  mother  she 
would  rob !  But  remember  this — the  house  that  is 
divided  against  itself  goes  to  the  wall,  or — er  falls,  or 
something;  and  how  you  can  stand  and  laugh  at  the 
mother  that  bore  you  is  more  than  I  can  understand ! 
Your  Grandmother  Bassett  never  received  such  treat- 
ment from  me — I  know  that !  But  you  and  your 
father  may  think  everything  is  safely  settled,  and  you 
as  good  as  on  the  stage ;  but  let  me  tell  you  I  am  not 
quite  helpless  in  this  matter.  There  is  still  one  link 
between  me  and  the  life  of  ease  and  luxury  and  beauty 
I  once  knew!  You  seem  to  forget  you  have  a  god- 
mother— though  how  you  can  forget  the  only  human 
being  who  has  been  able  to  give  you  presents  for  ten 
long  years,  I  don't  know!  But  you  have  a  god- 
mother, and  Sybil  Van  Camp  has  at  least  enough  of 
her  fortune  left  to  merit  our  respect !  Oh,  you  need 
not  pout!  Down  you  go  to-morrow  to  Mrs.  Van 
Camp,  and  if  she  sees  no  shame  in  spreading  the  name 
of  Lawton  all  over  New  York,  well  and  good !  She 
was  a  power  in  her  day.  I  nearly  fainted  from  joy 
and  pride  when  she  consented  to  stand  god-mother 
to  you !  You  don't  like  to  trouble  her — very  private 
matter?  I  wish  it  was  a  private  matter.  As  for 
trouble,  didn't  she  vow  in  church  to  become  your 
surety  and  see  that  you  renounced  things  and — ah, 
well,  what's  a  god-mother  for  if  she  don't  take  some 
responsibility  ?  Anyway,  you  go  on  to  no  stage  with- 
out Mrs.  Van  Camp's  consent,  nor  without  proper 
social  amenities  being  extended  to  your  mother! 
"  And  Sybil,  I  simply  can't  be  kept  standing  here  all 

$1 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

night  in  my  state  of  health!  Of  course,  dear,  I  am 
interested  in  all  your  plans,  but  it  would  hav-  been 
more  thoughtful  had  you  waited  till  morning  to  talk 
them  over.  But  that's  where  you  take  after  your  poor 
father  in  a  certain  unpremeditated  selfishness — unpre- 
meditated, I  admit,  for  he's  a  gentleman  and  you've 
had  the  upbringing  of  a  lady — though  you  are  de- 
prived of  the  surroundings  of  one,  but  through  no 
fault  of  yours  or  mine  !  John  !  " — turning  sharply  to 
peer  into  the  darkness  behind  her — "  what  are  you 
groaning  about,  I'd  like  to  know?  It's  my  legs  and 
back  that  are  bearing  the  fatigue  of  this  interview.  I 
saw  you  took  good  care  to  loll  comfortably  through 
your  talk  with  Sybil.  So  why  you  should  groan  now, 
I  don't  know,  unless  you've  hit  your  bunion  on  the 
frame  of  the  sewing-machine  again,  and  you  generally 
swear  a  little  when  you  do  that.  Sybil,  I'm  fairly  worn 
out  in  mind  as  well  as  body,  and  you  tore  your  veil 
the  other  day,  didn't  you?  Cheap  lace  always  goes 
that  way.  There  was  a  time  when  my  veils  made 
people  turn  around  to  look  at  them.  I  had  one  with 
a  border  of  grapes  and  vines,  I  remember;  I  am  al- 
ways an  honest  woman,  and  as  the  border  had  the 
effect  of  cutting  off  one's  chin,  I  can't  pretend  it 
was  becoming — but,  my  dear,  it  cost  thirty  dollars,  as 
I'm  a  living  woman!  But  you  can  wear  my  net  veil 
to-morrow,  and  you  will  have  to  take  Dorothy  with 
you,  for  I  shall  be  utterly  used  up  and  unable  to  chap- 
eron you;  though  once  they  get  you  upon  the  stage, 
I  suppose  you'll  go  prancing  about  without  attendance 
of  any  sort.  But  until  that  time,  you  will  show  some 

82 


"Tell  Her  You  have  My  Permission" 

respect  to  social  conventions.  Good-night,  Sybil! 
Take  a  quinine  pill  before  you  go  to  bed.  You  have 
advanced  me  well  upon  my  way  to  the  grave  this  day. 
But  I  can't  forget  you  are  my  child,  and  if  you  should 
get  a  chill,  you  couldn't  go  down  to  Mrs.  Van  Camp, 
who  will  probably  put  an  estoppel  upon  these  theatre 
plans  of  yours.  Yes,  yes!  John!  I'm  coming!  It 
does  seem  that  I  might  be  allowed  to  speak  a  few 
words  of  advice  and  caution  to  my  own  daughter  with- 
out interruption  every  moment  or  two !  " 

And  profiting  by  the  momentary  diversion,  Sybil 
flew  past  her  mother  to  the  room  she  shared  with  her 
sister.  Dorothy  had  placed  the  candle  high  on  a 
small  bracket  that  held  their  shabby  little  hymnals  and 
prayer-books,  and  as  Sybil  entered  she  saw  directly 
before  her  the  young  girl  on  her  knees  at  the  bedside 
praying.  The  light  fell  upon  her  uplifted,  happy  face, 
making  a  faint  aureole  in  the  bright  hair  that  at  the 
back  fell  in  a  long  queue.  A  tenderness  came  into 
Sybil's  eyes,  but  as  they  fell  upon  the  upturned  soles 
of  Dome's  feet  from  beneath  the  night-dress,  rising 
mischief  triumphed.  She  looked  at  the  pink  round 
heels,  at  the  whiteness  of  the  hollows,  and  then  the 
pinkness  again  across  the  balls  of  the  little  trotters ; 
and,  resisting  not  a  moment,  stooped  and  drawing  her 
finger  zig-zag  across  them  both,  produced  a  wild  lash 
out,  a  startled :  "  Oh !  ouch ! — for  ever  and  ever — 
Amen !  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Syb  !  " 

And  before  Dick  could  pull  his  head  out  from  be- 
neath his  wing  and  set  it  in  the  right  direction,  the 
bed  was  pillowless;  those  useful  articles  serving  as 

83 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

ammunition  in  the  battle  royal  raging  gloriously  be- 
tween the  dressed  and  the  undressed,  while  happily 
neither  one  guessed  they  were  bidding  farewell  to 
childish  romps  in  this,  their  last  great  pillow  fight. 

And  across  the  hall  the  subdued  John  bowed  in 
silence,  and  allowed  the  conquering  Letitia  to  place 
her  foot  a  little  more  firmly  upon  his  neck.  The  light 
had  gone  out,  'tis  true  ;  yet,  as  the  victorious  one  could 
talk  on  perfectly  well  in  the  dark,  it  was  nothing  short 
of  a  merciful  dispensation  that  permitted  meek  and 
conquered  John,  under  cover  of  the  darkness,  to  sleep 
— sleep  quietly,  almost  attentively,  thus  escaping 
actual  madness.  For  as  constant  dropping  weareth 
away  a  stone,  so  constant  talking  weareth  away  the 
listener's  brain! 


84 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   ACCIDENT — A   FRIEND   IN    NEED 

Early  the  next  morning  the  girls  prepared  for  their 
ride  cityward,  for,  though  their  sharp  young  eyes  saw 
Mrs.  Lawton's  follies  and  her  faults ;  though  they 
writhed  under  her  despairing  lamentations  and  blushed 
at  her  outrageous  boastings — perhaps  because  they 
were  guiltily  conscious  of  sitting  in  judgment  upon 
their  mother — they  yielded  her  prompt  obedience 
whenever  she  gave  a  command. 

Mr.  Lawton  elected  to  walk  with  them  to  the  sta- 
tion, and  Lena,  on  her  way  upstairs  to  the  "  frau  mis- 
tress," bearing  on  a  tray  a  breakfast  of  simple  ma- 
terial but  of  amazing  size,  nodded  and  smiled,  and 
with  unconscious  impertinence  commented  upon  their 
looks,  declaring  with  hearty  admiration  that  they  were 
"  youst  lofely  right  away  down  to  der  ground !  " 

Dorothy  laughed  and  said,  "  Take  good  care  of 
mamma,  Lena ! " 

And  that  hand-maiden  glanced  down  at  the  stack 
of  buttered  toast  and  the  eggs  and  young  home-raised 
onions,  and  made  answer  with  a  droll  not  to  say  sly 
look  in  her  light  blue  eye:  "Oh,  ja!  I  make  goot 
care  mit  her,  my  Miss  Ladies — und  ven  she  eat  all 
dese  breakfas',  she'll  be  all  right,  uf  she  don't  be 

85 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

vorse !"  And  away  she  went  up  the  groaning  stairs 
with  the  odor  of  coffee  trailing  behind  her. 

When  the  three  had  reached  the  little  station  that 
like  a  hen  covering  her  brood  nestles  low  at  the  very 
foot  of  the  hill,  with  the  glistening  metal  rails  passing 
on  one  side  and  the  glittering,  dimpling,  rippling  river 
flowing  by  on  the  other,  John  Lawton  lifted  his  hat 
and  kissed  his  daughters  good-by  with  the  careful 
courtesy  habitual  with  him,  and  holding  Sybil's  hand 
a  moment  he  said:  "I — I  shall  walk  over  to  The 
Beeches  to-day,  dear " 

"  Papa !  "  exclaimed  the  girl. 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on ;  "  I  shall  make  my  acknowledg- 
ments to  Miss  Morrell.  You  think  she  did  a  fine 
thing  when  she  sympathized  with  and  promised  to 
help  you,  but  she  did  a  finer  thing  when  she  refused 
to  ignore  the  parents — the  old  people,  who  are  gen- 
erally pushed  to  the  wall  in  such  cases.  I  shall  thank 

her  for  her  consideration,  and "  but  the  roar  of 

the  approaching  train  sent  the  girls  scurrying  through 
the  little  waiting-room  out  to  the  platform  and  into 
the  car.  A  pair  of  kisses  were  waved,  and  they  had 
lost  sight  of  the  tall,  slender,  old  gentleman. 

And  Sybil,  as  she  sank  into  the  seat  beside  Dor- 
othy, exclaimed:  "  Is  he  not  a  dear?  Is  it  not  won- 
derful that  this  sordid  poverty  has  not  made  him  self- 
ish, narrow-minded,  sullen  ?  Poor  papa !  Do  you 
know,  Dorrie,  I'm  afraid  he  suffers  more  than  we 
imagine !  " 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Dorothy,  "  don't  say  that !  I  always 
thought  papa  was  almost  contented  with  things,  ex- 

86 


The  Accident — A  Friend  in  Need 

cept  on  our  birthdays !  But  now  we  must  love  him 
more  than  ever,  Sybbie !  " 

And  to  drive  away  the  anxious  look  from  her  sis- 
ter's eyes,  Sybil  called  attention  to  the  odd  appearance 
of  the  car,  which  was  almost  filled  with  gentlemen, 
and  remarked,  laughingly :  "  We  have  taken  what 
mamma  calls  '  the  busy  man's  train.'  They  are  a 
sociable  lot,  are  they  not — every  man-jack  of  them 
with  his  nose  in  his  paper,  and  a  nice  little  wrinkle 
between  his  puckered  brows?" 

"That's  from  trying  to  get  and  keep  the  proper 
focus,"  laughed  Dorrie,  who  added :  "  I've  a  five-cent 
nickel  in  my  pocket-book,  and  I'll  give  it  to  you,  Syb, 
if  you  can  learn  the  color  of  a  single  pair  of  eyes  in 
this  car — barring  mine,  of  course." 

"  Well,  the  nickel  must  be  plugged  or  you  wouldn't 
have  it,  so  I'm  not  losing  much ;  but,  oh !  after  all,  I 
may  win  it — plug  and  all !  One  male  creature  has  eyes, 
for  he  has  lifted  them,  and  they  are — are !  Pass  over 
the  nickel,  Miss,  they  are  gray  with  black  lashes,  and 
—oh! " 

She  stopped  in  confusion,  for  the  male  creature  she 
was  watching  had  lowered  his  paper  a  moment,  and 
she  recognized  the  grave  young  man ;  and  to  herself 
she  ruefully  remarked :  "  And  the  third  time's  the 
charm !  " 

And  though  Dorothy  busied  herself  in  finding  the 
despised  nickel,  her  swiftly  deepening  color  told  her 
sister  that  she,  too,  had  recognized  their  fellow-trav- 
eller whose  calm  features  showed  no  trace  of  the  sur- 
prised delight  he  felt  at  again  seeing  the  face  of  the 

87 


A  Pasteboard   Crown 

"  violet-girl,"  as  he  termed  her  in  his  thoughts.  He 
only  gave  a  severe,  scrutinizing  glance  at  the  shade 
of  his  window,  carefully  lowered  it  about  an  inch,  and 
then  returned  to  his  paper,  reading  over  and  over  and 
over  again  how  a  certain  Mr.  Somebody  had  become 
the  benefactor  of  his  race  through  selling  shoes  to 
men  for  three  dollars  a  pair.  Yet,  in  spite  of  his 
steady  reading,  he  kept  saying  to  himself  how  strange 
it  was  that  the  fair-faced  Violet-Girl  should  cross  his 
path  on  this  the  red-letter  day  of  his  life — the  setting 
of  whose  sun  would  leave  him  so  much  better  off  finan- 
cially than  it  had  found  him  in  the  morning.  And  he 
could  not  help  thinking  how  much  sweeter  his  good 
fortune  would  seem  if  there  was  someone  to  share 
it  with  him. 

If  his  mother  had  not  left  him,  what  soft,  silky, 
flowery  pillows  and  spreads  her  couch  should  have ; 
what  rich,  dull  rugs !  But  the  almost  surreptitious 
care  bestowed  upon  her  grave  was  all  that  he  could 
give  her  now.  Yet  he  could  imagine  how  those  ap- 
pealing eyes  over  there  would  widen  with  surprise  and 
dance  with  pleasure  if  one  she  cared  for  brought  a 
story  of  endeavor  crowned  with  success.  He  won- 
dered what  her  name  was.  He  knew  her  family  name, 
for  he  had  heard  someone  at  the  church  corner,  on 
Sunday,  refer  to  them  as  "  those  Lawton  girls,"  and 
had  winced  at  both  tone  and  words. 

And  the  Lawton  girls,  meantime,  were  discussing 
the  probable  result  of  their  visit  to  Mrs.  Van  Camp. 

"  I'm  afraid  the  chances  are  against  you,"  said 
Dorothy,  anxiously.  "  You  know  how  she  goes  on 

88 


The  Accident — A  Friend  in  Need 

about  family.  '  Old  families  and  the  proprieties  '  are 
words  of  sweetness  to  her,  though  she  is  as  gay  as  a 
girl  and  as  droll  as  a  Merry  Andrew — on  occasions. 
'  The  stage ' — only  two  words — but  when  spoken  in 
relation  to  Mrs.  Van  Camp's  god-daughter,  Sybbie, 
I'm  afraid  you  can't  manage  her." 

"  She  won't  need  managing,  Dorrie.  She's  mer- 
cenary to  the  point  of  worshipping  Mammon,  but, 
thank  heaven,  she  never  meanders  as  mamma  does, 
who  wanders  away  from  the  subject  into  tortuous  and 
serpentine  courses.  No  manoeuvring  will  be  required 
with  God-mother  Sybil.  I  shall  marshal  my  facts, 
dwell  upon  the  honor  of  being  introduced  by  Miss 
Morrell  into  the  profession — she  has  professed 
the  greatest  admiration  for  her  all  her  life — and,  as 
she  knows  already  our  unspeakably  helpless  condi- 
tion, I'm  sure  she  will  come  to  a  quick  decision.  Oh, 
mercy!  They  are  already  lighting  the  gas.  How  I 
do  detest  the  tunnel!  I  always  come  out  so  sticky 
and  prickly  about  my  face  and  neck — and  grimy, 
too!" 

"  Oh,"  answered  Dorothy,  "  I  wouldn't  object  to 
being  sticky  and  grimy,  if  only  I  were  not  afraid. 
But,  Syb,  I  can't  help  it ;  I  never  have  passed  through 
this  tunnel  yet  without  taking  part  in  an  imaginary 
accident." 

"  You  should  follow  the  example  of  your  religious 
friend,  Mr.  Walton,"  laughed  Sybil,  "  who  declares  he 
always  fills  in  the  time  by  praying." 

"  Yes,  and  I  think  he  should  be  ashamed  of  him- 
self !  "  indignantly  interrupted  Dorothy.  "  It's  noth- 

89 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

ing  short  of  an  insult  to  his  Maker  to  pass  through 
the  beautiful  green  fields  and  the  warm,  sunny  air 
reading  a  newspaper;  and,  when  entering  a  foul,  ill- 
smelling,  black  hole  of  man's  creating,  to  begin  pray- 
ing because  he  can't  do  anything  else !  " 

Under  cover  of  the  roar  of  the  train  Sybil  laughed 
aloud,  delighted  to  have  got  a  rise,  as  the  slang  phrase 
is,  out  of  Dome's  mild  temper. 

The  men,  looking  waxy  pale  under  the  light  of  the 
overhead  lamps,  were  folding  up  papers,  settling  hats 
afresh  and  preparing  for  the  famous  American  rush 
from  the  train  when  Sybil,  noticing  that  her  sister's 
eyes  were  closed,  exclaimed,  with  malicious  triumph: 
"  I  believe  you  are  praying  yourself !  You  are,  at  this 
very  moment !  " 

"  Well,"  smiled  Dorothy,  "  you  see,  you  don't  know 
how  frightened  I  am,  and  anyway  I  don't  reserve  my 
prayers  for  an  otherwise  useless  moment.  I  prayed 
this  morning,  with  my  eyes  open,  looking  right  into 
God's  rising  sun  !  " 

Crash  !  Recoil!  CRASH  !  And  a  swift,  appalling 
darkness,  cut  across  by  one  woman's  piercing  scream ! 
Running  footsteps  !  The  venomous  hissing  of  escap- 
ing steam  ;  the  stench  of  gas ;  and  then  in  that  Stygian 
darkness,  rising  clear  above  the  undertone  of  groans 
and  short-breathed  oaths,  was  a  girl's  voice  crying: 
"  Dorrie !  Dorrie !  Oh,  Dorrie !  " 

Noises  outside  were  growing  louder,  and  Sybil 
scrambled  up  from  the  floor,  where  she  had  fallen,  and, 
mad  with  terror,  stretched  out  groping  hands  in  the 
direction  she  had  last  seen  Dorothy,  and  oh!  blessed 

90 


The  Accident — A  Friend  in  Need 

God !  encountered  two  little  hands,  that  closed  on  hers. 
The  next  moment  she  had  her  utterly  silent  sister  in 
her  arms,  and  impatiently  shook  away  something  warm 
that  kept  creeping,  creeping  down  her  temple  and  her 
cheek.  The  din  outside  was  awful,  the  darkness  an 
anguish!  Suddenly  there  was  a  flare  of  a  match — it 
went  out!  A  groping,  searching  hand  struck  Sybil's 
shoulder.  Another  match,  a  wax  one,  was  lighted,  and 
the  young  man  she  had  jested  about,  hatless  and  very 
pale,  asked,  swiftly :  "  Is  she  hurt  ?  I  hope  she  has  not 
fainted?" 

He  leaned  closer,  and  Dorothy's  great,  strained  blue 
eyes  stared  up  at  him  from  her  sister's  breast. 

"  Can't  you  speak,  dear  ?  "  pleaded  Sybil.  "  Oh,  she 
is  half  killed  with  fright !  "  she  added,  turning  to  the 
stranger,  and  again  the  creeping  thing  was  on  her 
cheek,  and  Dorothy  cried,  sharply :  "  Blood !  blood ! 
Oh!  Sybbie's  hurt!  Can't  you  help  her?"  And  the 
match  was  out,  and  they  were  again  in  that  hell  of 
darkness  and  steam  and  gas  and  roar !  But  a  calm  and 
friendly  voice  came  to  them,  saying :  "  Stay  here ;  take 
part  of  these  matches  and  light  one  now  and  then  while 
I  get  out  and  find  what  can  be  done!  Oh,  here  come 
the  torches !  Now  we'll  soon  have  help !  "  But  before 
he  left  them  he  drew  from  a  pocket  a  handkerchief, 
folded  it,  and  swiftly  tied  it  about  Sybil's  head,  and 
even  then  the  girl  smiled  at  his  naive,  lover-like  excuse : 
"  The  blood  frightens  her  so !  "  And  through  a  few 
agonized  minutes  the  girls  clung  tightly  together, 
shivering  in  a  very  ague  of  terror.  And  then,  through 
the  billows  of  steam,  the  low-hanging,  strangling 

91 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

clouds  of  smoke,  they  saw  men  with  lanterns,  heard  or- 
ders, short  and  sharp,  then  their  friend  was  lifting  them 
down  from  the  high,  high  step ;  and  Sybil,  with  her 
arms  about  Dorothy,  was  aided,  led,  pushed,  or  pulled 
along  at  the  will  of  the  only  person  who  noticed  their 
presence  or  existence. 

There  had  been  much  noise — noise  of  voices,  of 
metal  ringing  on  metal,  of  hurrying  feet — but  suddenly 
it  ceased.  A  moment's  quiet  came  into  that  place  of 
mad  excitement.  The  crowd  before  them  drew  apart. 
Like  lightning,  their  guide  threw  himself  in  front  of 
the  girls,  whispering :  "  Don't  look !  Don't  let  her 
look !  "  And  Sybil,  with  chilling  blood,  recalled  that 
one  piercing  cry,  that  woman's  cry,  and  to  save  her 
soul  could  not  help  sending  a  glance  toward  the  four 
men  who  bore  upon  a  stretcher  a  hastily  covered  form, 
so  still,  so  pathetically  slight !  Covered  ?  Yes,  but  one 
little  foot  in  oxford-tie  was  exposed.  A  foot  so  like — 
so  like —  And  Sybil  caught  Dorothy  in  an  embrace 
fierce  enough  to  wring  a  cry  from  her,  and  the  words : 
"  What  is  it,  dear  ?  Are  you  hurt  again  ?  Have  you 
turned  your  ankle,  or — Oh,  Sybbie !  It  was  that  poor 
man!  Oh,  can't  we  get  out?  Can't  we?"  and  her 
voice  broke  into  frightened  sobs. 

The  other  two  exchanged  meaning  glances,  for,  as 
this  outburst  had  been  caused  by  the  sight  of  two  stal- 
wart blue-coated  men,  who,  after  the  manner  of  chil- 
dren "  making  a  chair  "  were  carrying  on  their  crossed 
arms  a  passenger  whose  leg  was  broken,  they  trembled 
at  the  thought  of  the  collapse  that  must  surely  have 
followed  upon  the  sight  of  that  frail,  broken  thing, 

92 


The  Accident — A  Friend  in  Need 

whose  mute  authority  had  yet  the  power  to  silence  the 
awful  din. 

How  they  escaped  from  the  stifling,  sloppy,  grimy 
place  of  torment  they  could  not  have  told,  had  the  sav- 
ing of  an  immortal  soul  depended  upon  such  telling. 
There  was  a  ladder,  and  a  failure,  and  a  carrying  of 
the  ladder  to  another  place  by  the  aid  of  a  trainman, 
who  roared  some  advice  as  he  stole  a  few  moments  for 
their  service.  Then  coaxings  for  Dorrie,  sharp  direc- 
tions for  Sybil,  and — and  somehow  they  were  stand- 
ing in  a  street,  dazzled  by  the  sunlight,  sick  and  faint 
and  dirty  and  drabbled,  but  out  in  the  pure  air  once 
more.  And  knowing  that  Dorothy's  life  might  have 
gone  out  from  sheer  terror  but  for  the  aid  and  encour- 
agement of  the  grave  young  man,  Sybil  held  out  both 
hands  to  him,  crying :  "  I  thank  you  from  my  heart, 
and  I  will  serve  you  at  command,  for  Dome's  sake, 
who — who " 

Her  lips  whitened — trembled.  She  clutched  blindly 
at  his  arm  for  support.  Her  self-control  had  been  won- 
derful, but,  like  everything  else,  it  had  to  be  paid  for. 
The  shock  to  her  nerves  had  been  terrible,  her  wound 
had  bled  profusely,  and  when  a  strong  arm  about  her 
waist  lifted  her  over  the  threshold  into  a  quiet  phar- 
macy she  was  just  barely  conscious  and  no  more. 

The  bald-headed  little  proprietor  closed  his  doors 
upon  the  gaping  crowd,  and,  while  reviving  Sybil  and 
dressing  the  really  ugly  cut  her  head  had  received  from 
striking  against  the  frame  of  a  seat,  when  she  had  fallen 
to  the  floor,  he  called  upon  his  wife  to  descend  from 
her  room  above,  and  she,  with  ready  sympathy,  brushed 

93 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

and  pinned  up  Dorothy's  raiment  and  sponged  away 
the  smears  and  smuts  from  her  face.  And  when  the 
cheerful  little  woman  turned  for  a  moment  to  the  young 
man,  to  tell  him  she  could  bring  him  her  husband's 
second  hat,  if  he  did  not  mind  its  being  a  bit  burned  by 
the  suns  of  last  summer,  he  overheard  poor  Dorothy 
saying :  "  Whatever  shall  we  do,  Sybbie  ?  We  bought 
return  tickets,  and — and  we  only  have  left  ten  cents, 
that  was  to  have  paid  our  street-car  fare  to  god- 
mother's." 

A  swift  "  S-h-h ! "  from  Sybil  silenced  her.  The 
man's  heart  contracted  with  a  pang  of  pity  for  their 
distressful  situation.  The  next  moment  he  stood  be- 
fore them,  and,  addressing  the  elder,  said :  "  Miss  Law- 
ton,  I  am  going  to  ask  permission  to  introduce  myself 
to  you,  as  there  is  no  one  to  perform  the  service  for  me. 
I  am  a  sort  of  neighbor  of  your  family,  since  I,  too,  am 
summering  at  Yonkers.  My  name  is  Gait — Leslie 
Gait — and  in  consequence  of  this  accident  I  ask  you  to 
trust  yourself  and  your  sister  to  my  care,  until  I  can 
leave  you  at  your  own  front  door — will  you?"  He 
waited  for  no  answer,  but  continued :  "  I  will  have  a 
carriage  here  almost  directly,  and  we  will  board  a  Har- 
lem train,  get  off  at  Mount  Vernon,  and  then  drive  to 
your  house." 

Sybil's  spirits  began  to  rise.  "  Don't  you  think,"  she 
asked,  glancing  at  their  sooty,  oily,  dirty  white  gowns, 
"  we  should  be  sent  to  the  steam  laundry  before 
that?" 

"  No,"  he  gravely  replied,  though  his  eye  gleamed ; 
"  not  before,  but  after,  by  all  means." 

94 


The  Accident — A  Friend  in  Need 

"  But,"  Dorothy  began,  anxiously,  "  do  you  suppose 
mamma  and ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  send  them  word,"  broke  in  Gait, 
"  that  you  are  quite  safe  before  I  get  the  carriage.  You 
are  safe,  you  know,  physically,  mentally,  morally.  Only 
your  wardrobe's  ruin  is  complete."  And  gayly  donning 
the  proprietor's  ancient  hat  he  hurried  away,  in  their 
service. 

And  so  it  happened  that  the  reassuring  telegram  had 
not  yet  reached  the  old  White  house,  though  a  rumor 
of  an  accident  in  the  tunnel  had,  when  a  shabby  old 
hack  came  rattling  up  the  grass-grown  drive  and 
stopped  before  the  sagging  porch,  where  Letitia, 
ghastly  under  all  her  rouge,  stood  clinging  to  John 
Lawton,  who  trembled  visibly  all  his  length.  And 
when  a  strange  man  got  out  he  closed  his  eyes  a  mo- 
ment, and  passed  his  tongue  over  his  dry  under  lip. 

Then,  as  thrilling  sweet  as  had  been  their  faint  birth- 
cries,  there  came  to  his  ears  two  joyous  "  Papas ! 
Mammas !  "  And  then  ensued  a  very  whirlwind  of 
embraces,  of  kisses,  of  cries,  of  exclamations !  And 
when  Sybil  had  said :  "  Mr.  Gait  saved  us  and  brought 
us  back  to  you,  papa !  "  the  old  man  held  out  his  hands 
and  grasped  those  of  the  young  man.  His  kindly, 
frightened  blue  eyes  gazed  and  gazed.  His  piteous  old 
mouth  trembled  and  formed  words  that  would  not  be 
said.  And  like  a  flash  Leslie  Gait  saw  again  Dorothy's 
wide  blue  eyes  and  fright-stricken  mouth,  as  she  lay 
upon  her  sister's  breast,  beneath  the  flare  of  the  waxen 
taper.  And,  recognizing  the  likeness  between  father 
and  daughter,  he  opened  his  heart  to  the  helpless  old 

95 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

gentleman  then  and  there.  Though  John  Lawton  never 
got  his  thanks  into  words,  his  silent  gratitude  made  a 
deeper  impression  than  did  the  bursting  dam  of 
Letitia's  eloquence.  And  Lena,  rushing  upon  the  scene 
to  inquire  as  to  the  welfare  of  her  Miss  Ladies,  started 
out  joyously  with :  "  Ach  !  You  com'  all  right  again? 
Eh?  You  com'  back  mit  all  your  arms  und  legs  und 
feet,  und — und  [a  look  of  horror  growing  on  her  face] 
mein  Gott !  mein  Gott !  Get  avay,  quick,  und  put  your- 
selves by  der  vash-tubs !  "  an  ending  which  sent  every- 
one into  laughter. 

And  as  the  girls  were  swept  away  by  their  mother, 
one  blue  flash  met  a  waiting  pair  of  gray  eyes ;  and  as 
John  Lawton  walked  down  to  the  gate  with  Leslie 
Gait,  who  had  asked  for  and  obtained  leave  from  Mrs. 
Lawton  to  make  a  call  of  inquiry  next  day  as  to  the 
young  ladies'  healths,  they  paused  a  moment,  and  Law- 
ton,  holding  his  new  friend's  hand  tightly,  waved  his 
left,  indicating  all  the  forlorn  and  neglected  old  place 
in  one  gesture,  and  said :  "  You  see,  our  daughters  are 
all  we  have  left  on  earth — all,  all !  And  you " 

He  gently  drew  his  hand  away,  lifted  his  hat  punc- 
tiliously, and,  turning,  walked  slowly  back  to  the  de- 
caying old  White  house ! 


CHAPTER   X 

CALLING   ON   THE    MANAGER 

It  was  the  last  week  of  the  season  at  the  Globe 
Theatre,  and  it  was  closing  in  a  blaze  of  glory.  To 
leave  a  good  taste  in  the  mouth  of  the  public,  the  actor- 
manager,  Stewart  Thrall,  had  given  it  a  final  week  of 
Shakspere.  "  Romeo  and  Juliet "  was  playing  with 
a  very  good  and  beautiful  young  woman  as  star,  who 
could  not  quite  hide  her  contemptuous  misunderstand- 
ing of  the  passion-shaken  little  maid  of  Verona,  the 
swiftness  of  whose  love  is  ever  matched  by  its  purity ; 
and  who,  therefore,  seized  upon  the  potion  scene,  mak- 
ing much  of  it  and  of  the  final  scene  of  all,  so  that  it 
was  not  an  ideal  Juliet,  but  a  most  beautiful  woman  in 
a  rich  and  picturesque  setting,  who,  brilliantly  success- 
ful in  other  characters,  was  accepted  readily  in  this,  be- 
cause, forsooth,  nothing  is  so  successful  as  success. 

A  large  and  beefy  but  an  emphatic  Romeo,  who  had 
to  enthuse  for  two,  an  exquisite  Mercutio,  a  deliciously 
droll  Nurse,  and  an  excellent  general  cast  by  their 
united  efforts  gave  this  very  pleasing  performance, 
whose  seven  repetitions  would  do  much  to  dim  the 
memory  of  the  many  French  abominations  that  earlier 
in  the  season  had  freely  scattered  wink,  innuendo,  and 
double-entendre  while  trailing  their  chic  indecencies 

97 


A  Pasteboard  Crown. 

about  the  same  stage.  Of  course  a  few  real  lovers  and 
students  of  Shakspere  felt  the  pity  of  the  marred, 
misunderstood  characters,  while  keenly  enjoying  other 
more  poetic  presentations ;  but  Stewart  Thrall  was  ap- 
pealing to  another  class,  the  great  uncultivated,  who, 
though  secretly  bored  to  extinction,  dearly  loved  to 
pose  (for  one  week  only)  as  patrons  of  the  Bard;  and 
as  they  exchanged  platitudes  with  one  another,  when 
meeting  by  chance  at  the  box-office  window,  they  in- 
variably congratulated  themselves  upon  having  one 
manager  in  their  midst  who  dared  to  produce  Shak- 
spere. 

And  some  declared,  with  enthusiasm,  that  he  de- 
served a  public  vote  of  thanks  for  thus  giving  their 
sons  and  daughters  an  opportunity  to  study  a  Shak- 
sperian  drama.  And  Mr.  Thrall,  sitting  in  the  box- 
office  out  of  sight,  but  not  out  of  hearing,  smiled  sar- 
donically, and  signed  a  cable  order  to  his  Paris  agent 
to  secure  a  great  Frenchman's  newest,  wittiest  in- 
decency for  New  York's  future  delight,  knowing  well 
that  the  Shaksperian  poseurs  outside  would  be  found 
among  its  most  generous  patrons. 

Then,  glancing  at  the  treasurer,  busy  o*er  his  floor- 
plans,  change-drawer,  and  ticket  stamps,  he  said :  "  By 
the  way,  Barney,  you  reserved  the  wrong  box  for 
Claire  Morrell  last  night.  I  told  you  plainly  the  right 
box — didn't  you  understand  me  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  that  young  man  of  amazing  col- 
lars, throwing  back  his  head  and  tilting  up  his  cruelly 
scraped  jaw  in  an  effort  to  escape  the  strangle-hold  of 
the  white  linen  long  enough  to  answer  his  employer's 

98 


Calling  on  the  Manager 

question.  "  Yes,  sir ;  but — but  you  remember  you 
were  standing  on  the  stage  when  you  called  out  to  me 
to  hold  the  right-hand  box,  and  I  thought  you  meant 
the  box  to  your  right  as  you  stood,  and  that,  of  course, 
is  the  left  box  on  the  seat  chart ;  and  so  I  reserved  that, 
and " 

"  And  spoiled  the  evening  for  Miss  Morrell,  who,  for 
some  reason,  will  never  occupy  a  seat  on  the  left  of  the 
house  if  she  can  help  it." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  thought "  writhed  and  twisted  he 

of  the  collar. 

"  Don't  think,  then,  Barney.  I'll  do  the  thinking  if 
you'll  do  the  obeying.  Next  time  ask — that's  easier 
than  thinking,  or  |jwith  a  laugh]  it  would  be  to  anyone 
else.  Barney,  that  infernal  collar  will  cut  your  head 
off  one  of  these  days.  Why  don't  you  have  it  lowered 
a  couple  of  inches  and  enjoy  some  of  the  comforts  of 
life  ?  "  And,  striking  a  match,  he  lifted  it  toward  his 
cigar,  stopped  suddenly,  shook  out  the  small  flame, 
put  the  cigar  back  into  the  box  on  the  shelf,  and  turn- 
ing to  Barney  said :  "  I'll  take  your  place  five  minutes. 
I  want  you  to  run  as  quickly  as  you  can  round  to  the 
confectioner's  and  get  me  some  sugared  violets.  Hurry, 
now,  that's  a  good  fellow !  " 

And  Barney,  snatching  his  hat  from  the  nail,  made  a 
dash  for  the  street,  wondering  as  he  ran  "  who  was 
coming  to  see  the  governor,  for,  of  course,  he  wasn't 
going  to  squat  down  there  alone  and  stuff  himself  with 
violets."  By  which  anyone  can  see  what  a  coarse- 
minded  young  person  this  seller  of  tickets  was. 

But  he  was  swift  of  foot,  and  was  soon  back  in  his 

99 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

place  at  the  office  window,  while,  dainty  package  in 
hand,  his  employer  came  out,  crossed  the  vestibule,  and, 
entering  his  private  office,  proceeded  to  untie  his  par- 
cel and  pour  the  fragrant,  crystallized  violets  into  a 
charming  bonbonniere  standing  on  the  corner  of  his 
desk. 

The  prevailing  tone  of  this  room  was  a  dull,  rich  red, 
and  it  made  an  agreeable  background  for  the  figure  of 
the  man  standing  there,  Stewart  Thrall,  the  actor- 
manager  of  the  Globe  Theatre,  who  was  at  that  mo- 
ment expecting  a  call  from  the  popular  actress,  Claire 
Morrell,  and  a  certain  young  lady  who  wished  (oh, 
foolish  young  lady !)  to  go  upon  the  stage.  A  tall  man, 
of  excellent  figure.  He  was  a  well-groomed,  clean- 
skinned  man.  There  was  nothing  of  the  long-haired, 
floating  necktied,  fur-coated,  comic-journal  actor  about 
him.  He  was  no  "  beauty  man,"  either ;  but,  as  a  cer- 
tain very  great  lady  had  once  truly  said,  "  He  had  eyes 
and  a  manner." 

A  charming  manner  it  was — gracious,  graceful,  sin- 
cere. And  as  one  takes  a  certain  simple  base  for  a 
sauce,  and,  by  adding  various  flavors  or  acids,  produces 
innumerable  different  sauces,  so  to  that  natural  man- 
ner he,  by  adding  a  touch  of  dignity  or  sternness  or 
jollity  or  deprecation,  came  very  near  making  himself 
all  things  to  all  men.  His  closely  cropped  hair  was 
black — not  the  blue-black  of  the  Latins,  but  that  dark- 
est brown  that  is  America's  black — and  his  eyes  were 
those  Irish  blue  ones  that  are  "  smudged  in "  with 
black  lashes,  luminous,  quick  sparkling,  softly  dark- 
ening, wooing,  winning,  faithless  eyes — an  actor's  eyes 

!9Q 


Calling  on  the  Manager 

par  excellence,  but  with  a  droop  of  the  heavily  fringed 
lids  that  played  sad  havoc  with  the  dreams  of  the  ro- 
mantic girl  patrons  of  the  theatre. 

Stewart  Thrall  was  a  popular  idol.  His  stroll  down 
the  sweet  sunny  side  of  Broadway  was  a  triumphal 
progress.  Glances,  smiles,  turning  heads,  and  flatter- 
ing remarks  trailed  after  him  like  a  tail  to  the  kite  of 
his  vogue.  He  had  earned  his  popularity — it  had  not 
been  thrust  upon  him.  He  had  been  shrewd  and  clever 
and  determined.  He  had  acted  up  to  the  motto  of  his 
choice :  "  To  be  agreeable."  He  made  everything 
serve  him.  If  he  had  a  friend  in  a  high  place  he  never 
forgot  it  or  allowed  anyone  else  to  forget  it  either.  If 
he  went  occasionally  to  church  on  a  fine  Sunday,  where 
wealthy  pewholders  vied  with  one  another  in  courteous 
hospitality,  he  saw  to  it  that  that  was  the  church  at- 
tended by  his  banker.  "  The  recollection  will  do  him 
no  harm  and  may  do  me  a  service,"  he  would  say  to 
himself  with  a  laugh.  When  he  went  to  a  dance  he 
never  failed  to  bestow  attentions  upon  any  homely  girl 
or  woman  who  wore  jewels,  and  in  more  than  one  in- 
stance the  effects  of  such  a  one's  gratitude  had  been 
distinctly  felt  in  the  box-office. 

But  these  wealthy  wall-flowers  were  never  waltzed 
with.  The  very  prettiest  girl  in  the  room  could  be  re- 
lied upon  to  arrange  her  card  to  favor  this  man  with 
the  speaking  eyes.  And  so,  with  drooping  lids  in  full 
evidence,  he  swayed  and  whirled,  reversed  and  backed, 
apparently  by  instinct,  since  his  challenging  glance 
never  left  his  partner's  face.  He  would  think  triumph- 
antly of  the  two  birds  he  had  brought  down  with  one 

IOC 


A   Pasteboard  Crown 

stone,  winning  gratitude  from  one  and  a  flirtation  from 
another. 

Nor  did  he  fail  "  to  be  agreeable  "  to  humble  people, 
for  no  one  knew  better  than  he  how  swift  were  the  tips 
and  downs  of  his  profession.  Therefore,  he  treated 
with  friendly  consideration  the  "  nobody  "  who  might 
be  a  "  somebody  "  the  next  time  he  saw  him.  Gravely 
respectful  to  the  gray  old  solid  men  of  commerce,  hail 
fellow  with  that  body  of  men  known  as  "  the  boys," 
gambling  just  enough  to  keep  in  friendly  touch  with 
the  big  guns  of  the  business,  and  seemingly  ready  to 
give  up  his  very  soul  to  the  reporters,  he  was  a  matinee 
idol,  a  successful  man,  a  general  favorite.  And  yet, 
after  all,  disappointed;  so  many  brief,  transient  loves 
had  he  known ;  so  many  charming  hypocrites  had  made 
a  farce  of  the  grand  passion,  depriving  it  of  any  touch 
of  sanctity,  that  now  an  apathetic  weariness  had  come 
upon  him,  and  yet  that  was  not  the  worst.  No  one 
could  have  forced  the  confession  from  him,  but  in  his 
heart  he  admitted  his  defeat.  He  had  started  out  to 
win  fame,  but  had  attained  only  notoriety ;  and  though 
he  sneered  and  said  to  himself :  "  Fame  has  generally 
gone  hungry,  and  I  at  least  am  well  fed  and  have  a 
nice  little  story  to  read  in  ray  bank-book,"  he  was,  all 
the  same,  a  disappointed  man. 

As  he  turned  to  toss  the  paper  wrapper  and  bits  of 
ribbon  from  his  parcel  into  the  waste-basket  his  eyes 
encountered  a  picture  of  himself  as  the  young  Laertes. 
And  he  paused,  looked  at  it  frowningly,  and  com- 
mented :  "  You  poor  young  fool !  What  a  burning 
mass  of  hope  and  ambition  you  were !  So  honestly  be- 

102 


Calling  on  the  Manager 

Having  in  acting  as  a  veritable  art,  and — and  forget- 
ting everything  in  the  joy  of  it !  Damned  if  you  didn't ! 
But  Lord !  that  was  before  you  found  your  motto  and 
began  '  to  be  agreeable  '  to  the  world !  Couldn't  serve 
two  gods,  could  you,  sonny  ?  Well,  being  agreeable  has 
paid,  in  some  ways.  But  I  have  put  up  with  your  re- 
proachful glances  long  enough.  I  think  I'll  take  you 
down  from  there  and  send  you  over  to  the  Missus.  You 
won't  hurt  her  the  way  you  do  me ! "  And,  with  a 
half-laughing,  half-frowning  face,  he  stepped  on  a  low 
couch,  that  he  might  reach  and  lift  down  the  offending, 
boyish  Laertes. 

He  hurried  a  bit,  for  he  knew  that  Claire  Morrell 
was  very  exact  in  keeping  her  appointments,  and  that 
she  might  come  in  at  any  moment  now,  with  her  con- 
founded stage-struck  protegee,  to  whom  he  would 
never  have  given  a  thought,  let  alone  an  engagement, 
for  he  hated  amateurs,  had  it  not  been  that  he  had  met 
the  clever  and  witty,  if  ancient,  Mrs.  Van  Camp,  and 
knew  her  to  be  of  the  best  old  Dutch  stock.  Therefore, 
it  would  rather  flatter  his  vanity  to  be  able  to  exploit  the 
name  of  her  god-daughter  as  a  member  of  his  company, 
if  only  she  might  not  be  too  heavy  a  load  of  awkward 
self-consciousness — if  only  she  might  be  moderately 
good-looking.  And  then  he  set  the  picture  down  hard, 
with  its  long  wire  hooping,  and  coiling,  like  a  live  and 
very  angry  thing  about  it,  and  whistled,  exclaiming 
aloud :  "  Oh,  by  Jove !  I  wonder  if  either  of  those 
bright  and  pretty  girls  the  Morrell  had  with  her  last 
night  might  be  the  protegee?  They  were  both  charm- 
ing, but  how  that  dark  one  did  light  up  when  Morrell 

103 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

led  the  applause  for  my  Queen  Mab  speech !  But  no 
such  luck,  I  suppose !  " 

And,  man-fashion,  he  drew  out  his  handkerchief  to 
dust  the  small  wingless  Love  on  the  pedestal  between 
the  draped  curtains  of  a  mock-window,  whose  long 
Holland  shade  really  covered  a  very  narrow  door, 
spring  locked  and  never  used — never,  one  could  readily 
understand  that  from  the  inconvenience  of  its  approach, 
but  Mr.  Thrall  carried  the  key. 

And  out  in  Broadway  Claire  Morrell  was  saying: 
"  It's  so  very  tiring,  this  shopping ;  suppose,  Miss  Law- 
ton,  that  we  step  in  at  the  theatre  and  see  if  Mr.  Thrall 
is  there  now,  instead  of  making  a  special  trip  to-mor- 
row. If  he  is  in  he  will  see  us,  if  he  has  gone  home  we 
can  cool  off  in  the  dark  auditorium.  What  do  you  say, 
Miss  Dorothy  ?  " 

For  Miss  Morrell  had  kept  her  talk  with  the  manager 
and  her  appointment  a  secret,  feeling  that  Sybil  would 
thus  be  more  at  her  ease,  more  natural  in  manner,  than 
she  could  possibly  be  if  she  knew  she  was  being  in- 
spected or  examined,  like  a  servant  seeking  a  new 
place.  And  now,  as  the  sisters  smilingly  consented  to 
her  plan,  she  turned  in  between  the  big  billboards  that 
announced  the  week's  run  of  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  with 
the  name  of  the  lady  star  in  very,  very  large  letters  and 
"  supported  by  "  in  small  type.  Then  the  name  of  the 
gentleman  who  played  Romeo  appeared  in  letters  two 
sizes  smaller  than  those  of  the  star,  and  lower  down, 
in  quite  small  type,  one  read :  "  Mr.  Stewart  Thrall  as 
Mercutio." 

And  Sybil  tapped  the  letters  with  her  parasol-tip,  and 
104 


Calling  on  the  Manager 

said :  "  His  performance  was  the  best  in  the  play.  Why 
are  his  letters  not  the  biggest  ?  " 

And  the  actress  laughed,  as  she  answered :  "  Chil- 
dren always  ask  difficult  questions.  Wait  till  you're 
older,  my  dear.  Perhaps  this  time  next  year  all  this 
mystery  of  type  and  printers'  ink  will  be  clear  to  your 
understanding.  But  you  are  right  about  the  acting  of 
Thrall ;  his  Mercutio  is  the  best  of  his  time." 

She  went  to  the  box-office  window,  and  learning 
from  the  half-strangled  Barney  that  the  manager  was 
in  his  private  office,  she  swept  them  across  the  vestibule, 
from  whose  walls  the  gold-framed  pictured  actors 
looked  down  inquiringly,  tapped  at  a  door,  and,  in  an- 
swer to  a  cheery  "  Entrez !  "  entered  the  room,  crying : 
"  May  I  bring  up  my  light  infantry  ?  " 

And  in  answer  to  his  laughing  "  By  all  means — I'm 
in  need  of  reinforcements,  you  know !  "  she  drew  the 
girls  inside,  saying :  "  The  Misses  Lawton,  Mr. 
Thrall,  who  ask  of  your  grace  a  few  moments  hos- 
pitality and  rest,  as  they,  like  myself,  are  country  bred, 
and  therefore  easily  shop-wearied.  " 

"  Well,  none  of  you  are  shop-worn,  at  all  events !  " 
He  laughed,  as  he  found  seats  for  them  by  the  simple 
process  of  sweeping  manuscripts,  sheet-music,  and 
what-not  from  the  chair  to  the  floor  in  a  corner. 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Morrell  to  the  girls,  "  would 
he  not  make  a  blithe  and  bonnie  housekeeper?  " 

And  Sybil  acquiesced  with :  "  A  place  for  everything 
and  everything  in  that  one  place,"  while  Thrall  drew 
up  the  shade  of  the  one  real  window,  and  let  the  full 
light  into  the  dull  red  room,  showing  the  age-black- 

105 


A   Pasteboard  Crown 

ened,  iron-heavy,  splendidly  carved  table  and  desk  and 
chair  and  the  freshness  of  the  two  young  creatures 
looking  up  at  him  with  such  honest  admiration  in  their 
innocent  eyes  as  to  fairly  embarrass  him.  And,  so 
strange  a  thing  is  memory,  for  just  one  moment  he  was 
a  boy  again  in  roundabout  jacket  and  broad  white  col- 
lar, and  his  only  sister,  seventeen  years  old,  stood  at  the 
altar  with  her  young  minister  bridegroom,  and  looked 
at  him  with  just  such  sweetly  innocent  eyes.  He  shook 
his  head  sharply  and  passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 
His  sister  had  been  dead  these  twenty  years — what  had 
come  over  him  ? 

And  then  Miss  Morrell,  who  had  been  peering  under 
and  over  everything  in  the  room,  asked,  plaintively: 
"  Where  is  it,  Stewart,  mon  ami  ?  What  have  you 
done  with  it  ?  Am  I  to  die  before  your  eyes  from  sheer 
exhaustion,  and  without  even  an  effort  on  your  part 
to  save  me  ?  " 

And  he,  pointing  to  a  hanging  cabinet,  said: 
"  There's  the  life-saving  station !  "  and  threw  open  the 
door,  revealing  a  complete  outfit  for  coffee-making. 
Then,  noting  the  girls'  surorised  looks,  he  went  on: 
"  Ah !  I  see  you  are  not  very  well  acquainted  with  my 
friend  here,  or  has  she  been  clever  enough  to  conceal 
her  dissipation?  Be  that  as  it  may,  we  have  here  an 
awful  example — a  victim  to " 

"  Stewart  Thrall !  "  threateningly  exclaimed  Miss 
Morrell,  as  she  lighted  the  spirit-lamp  beneath  the  cof- 
fee-pot. 

"  A  victim  to  coffee !  Morning,  noon,  or  night,  her 
one  cry  is  '  Coffee ! '  Ah,  it's  sad !  Such  a  promising 

106 


Calling  on  the  Manager 

young  creature  as  she  was,  too!  But  you  see  what 
coffee  has  brought  her  to !  " 

"  I'll  buy  a  French  pot  and  a  bottle  of  alcohol  on  the 
way  home,"  laughed  Sybil,  "  and  see  where  it  will  land 
me!" 

"  Gracious ! "  cried  Dorothy,  "  you  will  land  in  a 
sanitarium  if  you  attempt  to  increase  the  amount  of 
coffee  you  are  taking  already !  " 

"  Oh,  are  you  one  of  the  devotees  of  the  little  brown 
berry  ?  "  asked  Miss  Morrell.  "  Well,  we  are  three, 
then,  for  that  man  there  adores  it,  in  spite  of  his  jibes 
at  me !  " 

"  I  drink  but  a  reasonable  amount,"  declared  Thrall, 
"  while  you — Miss  Lawton,  will  you  push  that  bis- 
cuit-jar this  way?  Do  you  know,  when  the  rehearsal 
is  called,  this  enslaved  creature  drinks  coffee  because 
work  is  beginning.  Later  she  drinks  coffee  because 
work  is  over.  When  it  is  cold,  she  drinks  coffee  to 
warm  her.  When  it  is  warm,  she  drinks  coffee  to  cool 
her!" 

"  My  very  dear  friend,"  interrupted  Miss  Morrell, 
"  there  is  a  strangely  familiar  sound  about  all  that.  Do 
you  really  believe  no  one  else  ever  heard  of  Thack- 
eray?" 

"And  Thackeray's  daughter?"  laughed  Sybil. 

"  Who  read  Dickens,"  added  Dorothy,  with  dancing 
eyes. 

" '  When  she  was  glad,  she  read  Dickens/  "  quoted 
Miss  Morrell. 

" '  When  she  was  sad,  she  read  Dickens,'  "  added 
Sybil. 

107 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

"  So  you  see,  sir,"  continued  the  actress,  "  even  if 
quotations  are  not  exact  to  the  letter,  they  are  sufficient 
to  prove  you  are  a  plagiarist !  " 

"  Good  heavens !  Who  would  have  believed  so  many 
people  remembered  a  man  named  Thackeray!"  said 
Thrall,  with  mock  astonishment.  "  Now  Vanity  Fair 
forgets  him  entirely." 

"  A  very  natural  revenge !  Who  cares  to  remember 
the  artist  who  paints  an  unflattering  portrait?  Poor 
Vanity  Fair  wanted  to  be  idealized  a  bit.  Oh,  wait, 
Stewart — wait!  Don't  pour  yet,  there's  a  cigar-clip 
and  a  postage-stamp  in  the  bottom  of  that  cup !  Now 
pour !  If  only  you  could  be  induced  to  write  a  few 
'  Household  Hints '  for  the  aid  of  young  house- 
keepers !  " 

"  Yes !  My  services  to  domestic  science  would  about 
equal  in  value  my  services  to  art !  "  he  jeered. 

Honest  little  Dorothy,  accepting  the  Sevres  cup  ex- 
tended to  her,  lifted  clear  blue  eyes  to  her  host's  face, 
saying :  "  You  should  not  speak  so  contemptuously  of 
what  you  have  done,  Mr.  Thrall.  If  acting  is  an  art, 
as  persons  say,  a  man  who  acts  Shaksperian  charac- 
ters very  beautifully  does  a  real  service  to  that  art — I 
think ! " 

"  Bravo ! "  cried  Miss  Morrell,  tapping  her  spoon 
against  her  cup.  "  Bravo,  little  play-lover !  A  charm- 
ing compliment,  and  a  very  just  rebuke  also  for  your 
insincerity  of  speech,  Stewart,  my  friend !  " 

And  he,  jumping  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  Doro- 
thy who  wanted  to  go  upon  the  stage,  felt  a  pang  of 
disappointment  that  surprised  him  by  its  sharpness, 

108 


Calling  on  the  Manager 

as  he  somewhat  gravely  answered :  "  It  was  not  in- 
sincere. You  know  well  enough,"  nodding  his  head 
toward  Claire  Morrell,  "  that  this  week's  return  to  the 
fountain-head  of  English  drama  has  not  been  made 
from  love  or  from  a  desire  to  improve  public  taste. 
You  know  it  is  but  a  catch-penny  device — an  advertise- 
ment. I  might " — he  glanced  at  the  wrapt  face  of 
the  young  Laertes  as  he  spoke — "  I  might  have  served 
art  once.  Indeed,  I  know  it ;  but  " — he  laughed  a  hard 
little  laugh — "  art  and  mammon  are  no  more  to  be 
served  by  the  same  man  than  God  and  mammon,  and 
he  who  serves  art  entirely  and  lovingly  will  have 
mighty  little  to  show  for  his  labor !  " 

"At  least,"  broke  in  Sybil,  hotly,  with  dark  face 
aglow,  "  he  would  have  the  joy  of  his  unskimped  ser- 
vice and  the  comfort  of  a  thorough  self-respect !  " 

And  again  Thrall  felt  that  swift  pang  of  regret  that 
this  was  not  the  stage  aspirant.  For  to  himself  he  had 
been  saying :  "  These  innocent,  wholesome  girls  are 
two  buds  in  the  garden  of  life.  This  fair  one,  like  a 
pale  blush-rose,  reaches  her  most  perfect  beauty  now, 
in  the  close- folded  bud  form ;  later  its  perfect  blossom- 
ing will  reveal  it  pale  and  shallow,  though  very  sweet. 
But  the  other  one,  she  with  the  lustrous  eyes  and  the 
mutinous  red  mouth,  is  like  one  of  the  red  damask  buds 
of  Southern  France,  now  ideally  beautiful,  yet  the 
opening  of  velvety  petals  will  betray  depth  after  depth 
of  deepening  color,  free  wave  after  wave  of  perfume, 
until  the  very  sweetest,  the  very  purest  tint  of  glowing 
color,  will  be  found  at  last  in  the  deep  splendor  of  the 
fully  open  heart!  Yes,  this  girl  will  blossom  into 

109 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

9.  splendid  womanhood.  And  what  a  face  for  the 
stage !  " 

And  then  he  was  aware  of  Miss  Morrell  setting 
down  her  cup  and  saying,  briskly :  "  A  little  business 
now,  Mr.  Manager,  if  you  please !  Miss  Lawton  here 
is  very  keen  to  go  upon  the  stage.  She  is  immensely 
ambitious,  absolutely  without  experience,  but  humble 
in  mind  enough  to  be  willing  to  begin  at  the  bottomest 
bottom.  I  would  gladly  give  her  her  start  in  my  com- 
pany, if  I  had  room  for  her,  and  I  would  not  ask  you  to 
consider  her  wish  if  I  did  not  truly  believe  she  had  in 
her  the  making  of  a  good  actress." 

Mr.  Thrall  turned  surprised  eyes  toward  the  happily 
smiling  Dorothy.  Sybil  had  gone  white  when  her 
friend  began  to  speak  for  her,  and  sat  still  and  cold, 
waiting  for  her  doom. 

"  In  heaven's  name !  "  thought  he.  "  What  has 
come  to  the  Morrell — to  think  that  child  can  act  ?  " 
Then  he  glanced  at  the  rigid  figure  of  Sybil,  and  said, 
slowly :  "  And  you — have  you  no  desire  for  the  stage 
life?" 

She  raised  her  dark  eyes,  and  said,  very  low :  "  I 
would  give  my  soul  to  act !  " 

Miss  Morrell's  nervous  fingers  closed  sharply.  She 
wished  the  girl  had  not  said  that,  and  in  the  same  in- 
stant Dorothy  exclaimed :  "  Oh,  Miss  Morrell,  Mr. 
Thrall  thought  you  were  speaking  of  me !  " 

And  actor  as  he  was,  the  man  turned  suddenly  to 
his  desk  to  hide  the  color  he  knew  was  burning  over 
his  face,  and  the  senseless  delight  that  flashed  through 
him  at  the  words,  Presently  he  asked  if  her  friends 

no 


Calling  on  the  Manager 

permitted  her  to  take  this  step.  Being  reassured  on 
that  point,  he  inquired  if  she  had  had  any  experience 
as  an  amateur.  And  when  she  replied  "  No !  "  with  a 
sadly  fallen  countenance,  he  smilingly  commented: 
"  No  tears  are  called  for  yet !  " 

And  Miss  Morrell  broke  in  with :  "  And  no  lessons 
in  elocution  has  she  had — no,  not  one !  " 

"  Thank  God !  "  fervently  exclaimed  Thrall.  "  De- 
cidedly, your  case  looks  hopeful,  Miss  Lawton." 

After  some  further  conversation,  finding  Sybil  would 
be  in  town  for  a  day  or  two,  he  asked  permission  to 
call  on  her  at  Mrs.  Van  Camp's  home  and  let  her  know 
what  his  decision  was.  As  he  spoke  he  caught  the 
swift  expression  of  anxiety  on  Dorothy's  face  and  fol- 
lowed her  glance,  and,  noting  the  close  attention  Sybil 
was  bestowing  on  a  picture,  knew  she  was  hiding  the 
tears  of  disappointment,  of  fear,  and  felt  a  throb  of 
sympathy.  Poor  little  soul !  Had  he  not  been  just  as 
impatient,  just  as  sensitive — once?  So,  while  Dorothy 
gathered  up  the  fans  and  parcels,  and  Miss  Morrell 
paused  to  place  a  candied  violet  between  her  lips,  Stew- 
art Thrall  stepped  close  to  Sybil's  side,  and  said,  very 
low :  "  Don't  be  distressed — you  shall  have  the  engage- 
ment. Only  I  don't  know  yet  just  how  or  where  I  can 
place  you ! " 

And  the  incredulous  joy  flashing  through  the  tears, 
the  tremulous  smile  on  her  lips,  as  she  turned  her  face 
to  him,  made  him  exclaim,  mentally :  "  Good  God !  If 
she  could  do  but  the  half  of  that  upon  the  stage !  " 

Then,  as  they  were  ready  to  depart,  ever  punctually 
exact  in  the  small  courtesies,  he  placed  himself  at  Miss 

in 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

Morrell's  side  and  led  the  way  to  the  vestibule,  where 
a  tall,  shabby  fellow  was  slouching  before  the  box- 
office  window,  while  young  Barney  could  be  plainly 
heard  refusing  to  give  him  money  without  Mr.  Thrall's 
order. 

Hearing  advancing  footsteps,  the  man  turned  a  pale, 
liquor-soddened  face  toward  them,  and,  seeing  the 
ladies,  he  let  go  of  the  window-ledge  he  had  clung  to, 
removed  his  hat  with  a  trembling  hand,  advanced  hesi- 
tatingly, and  attempted  to  address  Thrall,  who  said, 
savagely :  "  Step  aside !  I'll  speak  to  you  presently !  " 
And,  as  the  poor  wreck  drew  back,  they  passed  on  to 
the  open  front  doors. 

And  Claire  Morrell  raised  mildly  surprised  eyes,  and 
said :  "  Jim  Roberts  is  still  with  you,  then  ?  " 

And  Thrall,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  answered, 
flippantly :  "  Like  the  poor ! "  and  bowed  them  out. 


112 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   DOUBLE   BIRTHDAY 

With  June  a  renewal  of  life  seemed  to  have  come  to 
the  old  White  house.  A  riotous  maple  massed  its  vivid 
green  canopy  over  a  side  door,  tender  young  vines  with 
small,  tenacious  ringers  felt  their  way  over  its  southern 
wall,  an  old-time  peony  at  the  corner  of  the  porch 
lifted  its  enormous,  bitter-sweet  blossoms  of  deepest 
pink.  A  length  of  white  matting  lay  on  the  porch,  two 
neatly  painted  butter-tubs  (in  lieu  of  majolica  jars) 
held  plants,  a  few  chairs  and  a  table  kept  them  com- 
pany, and  every  wind  that  blew  the  white  curtains  in 
or  out  of  the  upper  windows  brought  forth  a  ripple  of 
laughter  or  a  snatch  of  song.  For  the  old  house  had 
received  the  gift  of  tongues,  and  spoke,  not  only  with 
the  voice  of  age  and  disappointment  and  regret,  but 
with  that  of  youth  and  hope  and  joy ;  and  Dick's  yel- 
low throat,  like  a  small  golden  ewer,  poured  forth  trill 
and  gurgle  all  day  long  in  happy  answer  to  all  the  de- 
lightful sounds  about  him.  And  two  little  paths  were 
creeping  through  the  thick-growing  grass — one,  lead- 
ing up  to  the  tangle  of  orchard  and  an  oft-mended  old 
hammock,  had  been  worn  by  the  feet  of  the  sisters ;  the 
other,  leading  down  to  a  side  lane,  was  shorter  but 
broader,  for  Lena's  feet  were  sturdy,  her  step  heavy, 

113 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

and  her  "  mash-man's  "  whistle  called  her  often  to  the 
lane  in  the  twilight.  So,  with  love  flitting  about  the 
kitchen  door  and  youth  and  beauty  dreaming  dreams 
in  its  ancient  chambers,  no  wonder  the  White  house 
seemed  rejuvenated. 

Sybil  was  happy — happy  as  she  had  never  been  be- 
fore. Nothing  definite  had  yet  been  decided  beyond 
the  fact  that  she  was  to  begin  her  work  in  September. 
Mr.  Thrall  might  let  her  play  a  small  part  in  New 
York,  or  he  might  send  her  with  a  travelling  company 
and  let  her  have  something  better  to  start  with.  Mean- 
time, he  had  advised  her  to  learn  several  small  parts, 
and  when  she  had  done  so,  swiftly  and  willingly,  he 
told  her  it  would  be  good  practice  for  her  to  study  a 
number  of  important  characters,  since  she  might  be 
called  upon  to  play  a  Jessica  or  a  Nerissa,  if  not  the 
difficult  Portia,  a  Celia,  if  not  a  Rosalind ;  and  it  would 
give  her  an  immense  advantage  if  she  were  already  fa- 
miliar with  the  lines,  while,  if  she  had  not  to  play  any  of 
them,  she  would  herself  be  the  richer  for  her  knowl- 
edge and  her  brain  would  be  trained  to  the  habit  of 
quick  study. 

Then  Mrs.  Van  Camp,  flattered  by  the  popular 
actor's  deferential  attitude  toward  herself  and  his 
warily  moderate  admiration  for  Sybil — well  he  knew 
that  any  rapturous  praise  of  her  beauty  would  act  as  a 
danger-signal  to  the  ancient  butterfly  of  fashion — had 
not  only  consented  to  her  god-daughter's  going  upon 
the  stage,  but  for  a  birthday  gift  had  lined  her  hungry 
little  purse  with  crisp  bank-notes,  of  modest  denomina- 
tion, it  is  true,  but  with  power  to  free  her  from  the  care 


The  Double  Birthday 

of  things  bodily  and  temporal  for  all  that  coming  sum- 
mer, and  had  added  a  note  to  her  "  very  dear  Letitia  " 
earnestly  requesting  her  "  not  to  make  a  fool  of  her- 
self!" ^ 

So  Sybil,  having  passed  the  pocketbook  over  to  Dor- 
othy's management,  knowing  that  she  would  get  twice 
as  much  out  of  it,  gave  herself  up  to  study  and  to 
dreams. 

John  Lawton's  misty  old  eyes  noted  how  she  sweet- 
ened under  this  small  ray  of  prosperity;  missed  the 
old  sharpness  from  her  tongue,  the  sting  from  her 
words ;  saw  the  increase  in  her  beauty,  and  was  tortured 
with  shame  that  his  child's  happiness  came  to  her  from 
strangers.  His  wistful,  apologetic  eyes  often  hurt 
Sybil  to  the  heart,  and  one  morning,  on  her  way  to  the 
orchard,  play-book  in  hand,  she  saw  him  leaning 
against  the  grape  arbor,  gazing  at  her  with  such  jealous 
pain  in  his  face  that  suddenly  she  understood,  and, 
throwing  an  arm  about  his  neck,  she  exclaimed :  "  I  am 
so  happy,  father,  I  just  have  to  stop  and  thank  you !  " 
and  she  kissed  him  soundly. 

He  drew  away  a  little,  saying,  incredulously: 
"  Thank  me  ?  Your  happiness  does  not  come  from  me, 
poor  little  one ;  to  my  sorrow,  dear — to  my  sorrow !  " 

"  Not  from  you  ?  "  cried  the  girl.  "  Why — why, 
what  could  I  have  done  without  your  consent,  dada? 
That  was  the  very  corner-stone  of  my  whole  plan !  " 

His  face  brightened,  then  clouded  again,  as  he  asked, 
hesitatingly :  "  Supposing  I — had — refused,  daughter, 
would — would  that  have  made  any  difference  to  you  ?  " 

"Oh,    father!"   cried    Sybil,    reproachfully,    "you 

"5 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

would  have  closed  the  incident  with  a  vengeance — I 
could  not  have  moved  another  step !  "  Seeing  the 
troubled  old  face  beginning  to  brighten,  she  laid  her 
arm  upon  his  shoulder,  and  added :  "  Everything  de- 
pended on  your  word.  No  one  wanted  to  help  a  girl 
who  had  not  the  backing  of  her  own  father.  So,  you 
see,  all  hung  on  your  '  yes  '  or  '  no,'  dear !  " 

And  the  poor  old  gentleman,  comforted  and  heart- 
ened up,  kissed  her  and  patted  her  back  and  told  her, 
quite  patronizingly,  she  should  have  had  more  con- 
fidence in  his  willingness  to  assist  her,  and,  seeing  she 
was  studying  Jessica  that  morning,  he  devoted  him- 
self to  a  careful  reading  of  Shylock  down  under  the 
monster  willow.  Thus  Sybil,  with  passions  and  de- 
sires all  sleeping,  studied  and  dreamed,  and  wondered 
vaguely  would  she  always  be  unknown,  or  would  she, 
some  day,  some  far  away  radiant  day,  be  a  crowned 
Queen  of  the  Drama? 

And  to  Dorothy — the  patient,  practical  Dorothy,  who 
knew  to  the  hour  how  long  a  pound  of  tea  would  last ; 
who  knew  to  a  spoonful  how  much  sugar,  salt,  or  bak- 
ing-powder there  was  in  the  house — there  had  come  a 
habit  of  musing,  a  trick  of  sudden  and  utter  abstraction 
at  the  most  improbable  moments,  when  her  hands 
would  drop  idly  at  her  sides,  and,  gazing  into  space, 
she  would  wonder  vaguely  why  all  her  anxieties, 
worries,  and  annoyances  could  be  so  swiftly  drowned 
in  the  depths  of  a  pair  of  gray  eyes,  whose  steely  look 
always  darkened  and  softened  when  their  owner  spoke 
to  her.  For  so  swift  is  the  blossoming  of  love  when 
once  the  magic  hour  has  struck,  that  already  Leslie 

116 


The  Double  Birthday 

Gait,  the  friend  of  three  weeks'  standing,  was  her  re- 
liance and  her  ever-quoted  authority. 

Sybil  quite  understood  the  situation,  and  when  she 
jibed  gently  at  the  girl's  fits  of  abstraction,  Dorothy 
would  answer  nothing,  save  with  smile  and  blush  and 
dimple,  and  surely  they  were  eloquent  enough. 

John  Lawton,  considering  his  daughters  as  mere 
well-grown  babes,  saw  nothing  but  a  liking  for  himself 
in  young  Gait's  visits,  and  Letitia's  usually  quick  eyes 
were  so  dazzled  by  a  certain  jack-o'-lantern  of  her  own 
discovery  that  she  saw  in  the  young  man  only  a  pa- 
tient listener,  whom  she  believed  she  was  training  to 
fetch  and  carry  quite  nicely. 

The  discordant  note  in  all  this  melody  of  love  was 
William  Henry  Bulkley.  The  overbearing,  conse- 
quential manner,  the  fine  raiment,  and  the  red  face  and 
neck  of  the  elderly  beau  aroused  the  imagination  of 
Lena,  and  she  named  him  "  Dat  Herr  Gobbler-mans," 
and  it  was  with  ill-suppressed  laughter  and  but  half- 
hearted severity  that  Miss  Dorothy  called  her  to  ac- 
count for  her  disrespect ;  and  Lena,  somewhat  sullenly, 
made  answer  that  "  she  guessed  she  had  youst  as  much 
respect  for  der  Herr  Bulkley  as  der  Herr  Bulkley  has 
for  himself.  For  her  mash-mans,  he  knowed  some 
tings  about " 

"  Lena ! "  interrupted  Dorothy,  warningly.  "  Lena !  " 
And  Lena,  catching  the  laughing  eyes  of  Sybil,  grinned 
broadly  back  at  her  while  in  the  very  act  of  making  her 
apologetic  peasant  bob  to  Dorothy,  and  murmuring: 
"  Oxcuse  me !  I  don't  make  mit  der  Herr  Gobbler 
name,  nein !  no  more !  " 

117 


A   Pasteboard  Crown 

She  retired  to  the  kitchen,  while  the  laughing  Sybil 
inquired  of  Dorothy  how  much  she  thought  she  had 
gained  by  her  lecture  on  propriety  to  the  sharp  little 
German  girl. 

'Twas  well  for  all  of  them  that  Mrs.  Lawton  had  not 
heard  of  the  "  Herr  Gobbler  "  episode,  for  she  alone 
approved  of  William  Henry  Bulkley,  she  alone  greeted 
him  warmly,  effusively,  and  urged  him  to  repeat  his 
patronizing  visits.  She  passed  much  of  her  time  in 
trying  to  appraise  at  its  exact  value  that  long  gloating 
look  of  admiration  he  had  bestowed  upon  the  fair  Dor- 
othy that  day  of  his  first  visit  to  them,  back  in  May. 
Like  a  very  small  cat  in  waiting  for  a  very  large  mouse, 
she  sat  with  unwinking  eyes,  with  sharply  alert  ears, 
with  every  strained  nerve  ready,  like  a  sensitive 
whisker,  to  warn  her  back  from  a  dangerously  tight 
place,  and  watched  tensely,  patiently  watched,  ready 
to  spring  upon  the  silky-coated,  cheese-fed  big  mouse 
and  drag  him  in  triumph  to  the  feet  of  her  little  white 
kitten,  whom  she  would  instruct  to  pat  him  judiciously, 
with  velvet  paw,  or  tear  punitively,  with  sharp  curved 
claws,  just  as  pussy-mamma  should  think  fit.  Noth- 
ing in  all  Letitia  Lawton's  silly,  superficial  life  had  be- 
trayed so  completely  her  absolute  selfishness  as  did 
this  eager  desire  to  secure  a  son-in-law  in  the  person 
of  William  Henry  Bulkley.  Her  knowledge  of  the 
man  in  the  past,  and  the  piteous  picture  her  memory 
held  of  Mrs.  Bulkley's  pale,  fast-thinning  face,  when, 
bravely  hiding  her  wounded  pride  and  slain  affection, 
she  received  her  sympathetically  prying  neighbors  with 
uncomplaining  chill  courtesy,  but  such  woful  eyes, 


The  Double  Birthday 

that  they  had  withdrawn  without  daring  to  speak  one 
word  of  condemnation  against  the  man  of  whom  a  cer- 
tain splendid  infamy  had  but  recently  caused  it  to  be 
said :  "  Why,  his  conduct  brings  a  blush  of  shame  to 
the  cheek  of  impropriety's  self !  " 

These  memories  should  have  rilled  her  mother's 
heart  with  sick  repulsion,  but,  instead,  it  was  filled  with 
fallacies.  His  conduct  had  not  been  quite  what  it 
should  have  been,  perhaps,  but  then,  no  one  knew — 
perhaps  his  wife  had  not  been  entirely  faultless.  She 
may  not  have  been  a  suitable  companion  for  so  jovial 
and  high-spirited  a  man.  She  had  probably  not  known 
how  to  manage  him.  Now  she  herself  had  had  no  such 
trouble  with  her  husband,  though,  of  course,  she  had 
been  a  much  prettier  woman  than  had  been  the  late 
Mrs.  Bulkley.  Then  he  had  been  a  very  wealthy  man 
(Letitia's  eyes  gleamed  at  the  thought),  and  much  was 
to  be  forgiven  to  the  wealthy,  they  were  more  tried 
and  tempted  than  other  men,  and — and — oh,  well! 
someone  had  said  that  a  man  had  to  break  the  heart  of 
one  wife  before  he  learned  how  to  care  properly  for  a 
second  one.  Dorothy,  too,  was  so  young  and  unsus- 
picious that  he  would  probably  justify  her  sweet  con- 
fidence in  him,  while  she,  Letitia,  would  keep  her  eyes 
very  wide  open.  Not  that  she  would  ever  interfere 
between  husband  and  wife — not  she!  But  still  there 
could  be  no  harm  in  keeping  a  mother's  eye  upon  what 
was  going  on.  And  then,  her  very  soul  hungered  after 
the  unforgotten  flesh-pots.  She  calculated  to  a  nicety 
what  William  Henry  would  in  common  decency  have 
to  do  for  the  parents  of  his  bride.  They  could  not  be 

119 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

left  in  that  shackly  old  White  house,  that  was  sure; 
and,  of  course,  she  would  pay  very  long  visits  to  her 
daughter,  and — and  assist  her  in  guiding  her  house- 
hold. Almost  she  felt  the  caressing  touch  of  rich  furs 
about  her ;  in  imagination  she  ordered  "  the  brougham," 
and  closely  inspected  the  liveries  of  the  men  on  the 
box;  and,  in  fact,  was  so  dazzled  with  the  gleam  of 
Mr.  Bulkley's  money,  so  a-hungered  for  the  flesh-pots 
in  his  keeping,  that  she  was  almost  blinded  to  the  sin 
and  shame  and  degradation  that  covered  his  moral 
character  like  a  leprosy.  Yet,  not  quite — surely  not 
quite !  Else  why  was  she  so  silent  as  to  her  wild 
hopes?  A  secret  she  had  never  kept  in  all  her  life  be- 
fore !  For  years  she  had  crowded  the  portals  of  John 
Lawton's  unwilling  ears  with  not  only  her  own  secrets 
but  all  those  she  could  come  by  of  other  people's. 
Why,  then,  did  she  often  catch  herself  up,  in  that  ex- 
pansive and  confidential  chat  or  monologue,  peculiar  to 
the  marital  chamber? 

Why  did  she  press  her  thin,  rouge-tinted  lips  so 
closely  and  stop  so  suddenly  every  time  she  started  to 
speak  of  a  "  splendid  chance  "  ?  Whose  "  chance  "  was 
she  thinking  of,  and  why  did  she  not  complete  her 
sentence  ? 

John,  slow  John,  began  to  wonder  to  himself.  It  was 
odd.  All  her  married  life  Letitia  had  exalted  herself — 
had  proclaimed  herself;  her  superiority,  mentally  and 
spiritually,  had  usurped  the  husband's  authority;  yet 
now  it  was  that  helpless,  broken  gentleman,  whose 
pathetic  eyes  she  shrank  from  meeting,  into  whose  ears 
she  dared  not  pour  her  shameful  secret  wish :  to  marry 
little  Dorothy  to  William  Henry  Bulkley. 

1 2O 


The  Double  Birthday 

Slow  and  uncertain,  foolishly  trustful,  weak  as  he 
had  been  in  business  matters,  there  was  a  certain 
austerity  in  John  Lawton's  moral  character.  His  life 
had  been  singularly  clean  and  wholesome.  He  had 
known  how  to  resist  the  temptations  that  many  men 
consider  it  rather  "  goody-goody  "  or  "  middle-class  " 
to  resist.  The  "  high-roller "  and  the  gambler  he 
classed  together,  but  the  immoral  married  man  was, 
to  his  old-fashioned  belief,  the  man  unspeakable !  And 
that  was  why  Letitia  was  learning  to  keep  a  secret! 
She,  the  tyrant,  was  afraid  of  her  slave !  So  John  Law- 
ton  was  the  only  person  in  that  house  who  was  not 
dreaming  dreams  or  weaving  plans  for  the  future !  He 
was  like  a  mossy  stone,  immovable,  in  the  middle  of  a 
gentle  stream.  The  water  does  not  rush  over  it,  but 
parts  and  races  about  it  with  touches  of  white  caressing 
foam,  then  joins  again  below  it  and  continues  on  in  one 
united  stream. 

But  this  June  day  was  a  special  one  in  the  Lawton 
family,  since  on  it  fell  the  birthdays  of  both  Mrs.  Law- 
ton  and  Sybil ;  a  fact  sufficiently  unusual  to  justify  the 
mentioning  of  it,  according  to  Mrs.  Lawton's  ideas, 
though  her  doing  so  to  such  mere  acquaintances  as 
Mr.  Gait  and  Mr.  Bulkley  covered  the  girls  with  mor- 
tification. "  Poor  Sybil ! "  said  Dorothy,  sympathet- 
ically, when  the  mother  had  mentioned  the  interesting 
coincidence  to  the  second  gentleman,  "  but  don't  mind, 
dear !  Anyone  can  see  you  are  innocent  of — of " 

"  Of  giving  a  disgracefully  broad  hint !  Oh,  what  is 
coming  to  mamma!  Her  pride — where  is  it?  Poor 
papa  simply  tries  to  hide  his  needs,  as  mamma  did  for- 
merly, at  least  from  strangers.  She  would  always  de- 

121 


A  Pasteboard   Crown 

mand  help  from  any  relative,  but  of  late — oh,  nothing 
is  so  humiliating  as  the  hint  direct !  There's  no  use  de- 
nying it,  mamma  reminds  me  of  one  of  those  creamy- 
white,  fine  silky  sponges " 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  almost  whispered  Dorothy.  "  For 
truly,  I'd  a  great  deal  rather  hear  her  say  boldly: 
'  Stand  and  deliver ! ' '  At  which  both  girls  had 
broken  into  laughter. 

Now  Sybil,  who  had  read  his  signs  of  love  aright 
from  the  first,  was  greatly  admired  and  honestly  liked 
by  young  Gait,  and  he  was  quick  to  turn  to  her  when  he 
needed  a  friend  at  court.  Sybil  had  noted  the  swift 
disappointment  clouding  his  face  when  he  learned  that 
it  was  not  Dorothy  who  shared  the  honors  of  the 
twenty-fifth  of  June  with  Mrs.  Lawton.  More,  with 
swift  intuition  she  had  even  guessed  the  exact  gift  he 
wished  to  offer  her  young  sister ;  for,  being  very  short 
of  fans,  Mrs.  Lawton,  when  on  dress  parade,  nearly 
always  took  Dorrie's  little  fan  from  her,  with  "  Just  for 
a  moment,  my  dear,"  which  moment  generally  reached 
to  her  final  withdrawal,  while  the  owner  meantime 
crimped  up  a  sheet  of  newspaper  with  which  to  fan 
her  flushed  cheeks  or  defend  herself  from  the  persist- 
ent fly.  And  Gait's  brows  would  knit  and  his  lips 
twitch  nervously  as  he  helplessly  noted  the  need  of  his 
Violet  Girl.  So  it  was  easy  to  guess,  when  Mrs.  Law- 
ton  had,  with  joyous  abandon,  confided  to  him  the  date 
of  the  double  birthday,  that  a  fan  for  his  adored  was 
the  first  thought  that  sprang  into  his  mind,  and  lo !  the 
name  of  Sybil  dashed  all  his  hopes  to  flinders. 

Though  she  laughed  at  his  disappointed  face,  she 

122 


The  Double  Birthday 

felt  sorry  for  him  too,  and  determined  to  help  him  to 
his  wish  if  possible,  for  she  argued :  "  He  simply  can't 
help  himself ;  he  is  forced  to  accept  that  coy  hint — not 
more  than  a  yard  broad — of  mamma's  offering,  but  I 
think  he  is  a  gentleman  sufficiently  well-bred  not  to 
humiliate  us  with  extravagant  offerings,  and  he  ought 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  remembering  Dorrie."  So: 
"  Mr.  Gait !  "  she  cried,  "  will  you  help  me  fasten  up  a 
bit  of  vine  on  the  side  of  the  house  ?  It's  just  above  my 
reach."  And,  as  he  obediently  followed  her,  she  con- 
tinued :  "  Now,  you  may  weep  unobserved." 

He  looked  f rowningly  at  her,  and  she  went  on :  "  You 
are  not  going  to  deny  your  vexed  disappointment,  are 
you?" 

A  wry  smile  twisted  his  lips  as  he  murmured :  "  I  beg 
your  pardon — I  did  not  mean — I  was  not  aware " 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  she  laughed ;  "  but  you  must 
better  control  your  features  or  wear  a  good  heavy  veil, 
to  hide  them,  after  this." 

"  Good  Lord !  What  an  idiot  you  must  think  me," 
he  said.  "  But  honesty  is  the  best  policy,  and  I  admit  I 
want  awfully  to  offer  a  certain  trifle  to  Dor — to  Miss 
Dorothy,  and  I  fancied  the  opportunity  had  arrived, 
and — and " 

"  And  it  hadn't !  "  laughed  Sybil.  "  But  see  here, 
now,  you  don't  know  much  about  our  family — you  are 
a  stranger  to  us." 

"  Oh !  Miss  Sybil !  "  gasped  Leslie  Gait.  "  That's 
downright  cruel.  You  said  the  other  day " 

"  Do  be  still !  "  snapped  Sybil,  "  and  attend  to  what  I 
am  saying.  You  are — or  you  ought  to  be — a  stranger 

123 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

yet  to  the  Lawton  family  history.  You  have  learned 
of  a  double  birthday,  and  you  wish  to  mark  the  occa- 
sion with  some  small  remembrances;  but,  for  the  life 
of  you,  being  a  stranger,  you  can't  remember  which 
girl  it  is  who  shares  the  day  with  Mrs.  Lawton,  there- 
fore  " 

But  Gait,  with  a  whoop,  had  both  her  hands  in  his, 
crying,  rapturously :  "  Oh,  you  angel !  You  angel !  Of 
course  I  am  uncertain,  and  so  I  have  taken  the  liberty ! 
Oh,  what  a  blessed  little  brick  you  are ! "  and  on  that 
hint  he  acted. 

So,  on  this  twenty-fifth  of  June,  many  kisses  had 
been  exchanged,  some  piteously  small  gifts  offered  and 
joyously  accepted.  A  few  mixed  roses,  with  very 
plenteous  greens,  were  presented  by  the  tremulous  hand 
of  John  Lawton  to  his  Letitia,  but  he  had  laid  aside  all 
the  deep  red  ones,  then  made  them  into  a  knot,  with 
thorns  all  carefully  removed,  and,  as  he  kissed  his 
first-born  daughter  on  lip  and  brow  and  from  his  soul 
wished  happy  returns  of  the  day,  he  laid  them  against 
her  rounded  throat,  and  said :  "  Because  they  are  so 
like  you,  dear !  " 

Later  in  the  day  Leslie  Gait  drove  up  in  the  dusty  old 
station  hack,  carrying  in  one  hand  his  mandolin  and  in 
the  other  a  basket  of  the  choicest,  rarest  fruits,  prettily 
decorated  with  vines  and  blossoms.  These  being  ac- 
cepted, he  next  brought  forth  two  slim  parcels  in  white 
wrappers — but  standing  before  Mrs.  Lawton,  and  sud- 
denly conscious  that  Sybil's  laughing  eyes  were  upon 
him,  he  blushed  and  stammered  and  lied  his  lie,  so 
redly,  so  confusedly,  that  anyone  would  have  sworn  he 

124 


The  Double  Birthday 

told  the  truth,  and  did  not  know  which  girl  to  congrat- 
ulate. And  Mrs.  Lawton  clapped  her  hands  in  juvenile 
delight,  and  gave  consent  to  Dorothy's  acceptance  of 
the  gift.  "  She  really  had  no  right  to,  naughty  thing !  " 
And  the  boxes  being  opened  revealed  two  little  Em- 
pire fans:  one  a  bit  of  scarlet  gauze,  gold  flecked  in 
sandal  frame,  and  the  other  of  cream-tinted  silk,  which 
some  true  artist's  hand  had  showered  thick  with  violets 
so  heavenly  blue,  so  mauve,  so  white,  so  real  that  invol- 
untarily one  bent  to  catch  the  perfume.  No  apportion- 
ment had  been  made  at  all,  yet  with  a  single  blue  gleam 
of  an  upward  glancing  eye,  a  swirl  of  color  in  a  peachy 
cheek,  Dorothy  put  out  her  hand  unhesitatingly  and 
claimed  her  own,  thus  proving  that  she  knew  herself  to 
be  the  Violet  Girl,  and  Sybil,  fluttering  her  gay  fan 
above  her  head,  said,  aside  to  Gait :  "  I  suppose  then, 
I  am  a  sort  of  dahlia-girl  or  a — a — hibiscus-girl  ?  " 
And  he,  being  merry  and  light  of  heart  because  of  that 
sweet,  comprehending  blue-eyed  glance,  caught  up  the 
mandolin  and  sang  in  answer :  "  My  love  is  like  the 
red,  red  rose !  "  At  this  Mrs.  Lawton,  speaking  against 
a  rather  large  portion  of  fruit  which  gave  her  words  a 
somewhat  muffled  sound,  remarked  that  "  that  used  to 
be  a  very  popular  air  in  her  own  blooming  days.  She 
had  been  serenaded  by  it  once ;  that  is,  those  who  sere- 
naded her  sang  it;  and  a  public  singer — oh,  mercy 
goodness !  "  coughed  and  choked  the  fruit-eater.  Then, 
the  unexpected  pit  having  been  ejected  from  her  throat, 
she  proceeded,  with  quite  watery  eyes — "A  public 
singer,  of  no  breeding  at  all,  no  offence  meant  to  you, 
Sybil,  though  of  course  you  will  not  be  a  singer — but 

125 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

she  was  stopping  a  few  days  next  door,  and  if  you'll 
believe  me,  that  creature  came  to  her  window  and 
bowed  and  smiled,  when  my  serenaders  sang :  '  Red, 
red  rose ! '  Her  name,  by  the  way,  was  Roze — with  a  z, 
you  understand,  not  an  s.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  any- 
thing more  incredibly  impertinent?  Well,  I  was  a 
very  pretty  woman  in  those  days !  Sybil,  here,  is  almost 
my  exact  image — not  quite  so  rich  in  coloring,  perhaps, 
even  now.  You  may  have  noticed  my  color  is  good  for 
a  poor  buried-alive  creature  who  knew  only  luxury  in 
the  past  and  knows  only  penury  in  the  present.  I'm 
sorry  I  ate  the  last  of  those  strange  Japanese  plums ; 
I  meant  to  save  one  to  show  to  John.  Yes,  that's  right, 
practice  a  little,  my  dears — as  much  as  you  like — but — 
but  if  that  is  what  you  are  going  to  do  I  won't  urge 
this  fruit  upon  you — it's  fatal  to  the  voice." 

And  thus  it  was  that  Sybil  took  her  place  at  the 
piano — which  she  hated — and  played  accompaniments 
stumblingly  but  cheerfully,  because  she  knew  that,  to 
the  pair  behind  her,  singing  together  thus  unobserved 
by  others  was  as  the  joy  of  Paradise. 

And  finally  it  was  upon  the  picture  of  Leslie  Gait, 
bending  over  and  half  encircling  Dorothy  with  his  arm, 
as  he  tenderly  placed  her  unaccustomed  little  hands  in 
position  to  hold  the  mandolin  correctly,  that  William 
Henry  Bulkley  stumbled,  and  stood  and  glared  and 
mentally  swore.  Loaded  with  gifts  whose  expense 
made  their  acceptance  a  humiliation,  he  had,  without 
hesitation,  included  Dorothy  in  his  list  of  recipients, 
and  oddly  enough  he  too  presented  a  fan — a  gorgeous 
affair  of  white  ostrich  plumes  mounted  on  sticks  of 

126 


The  Double   Birthday 

carved  white  pearl ;  and  when  Mrs.  Lawton  had  rather 
sharply  commanded  its  acceptance  by  the  reluctant  girl, 
Sybil  remarked,  sweetly :  "  It  is  so  beautiful,  and  will 
be  so  useful  when  you  attend  balls  or  the  opera,  my 
dear !  I  suppose  you  will  hardly  care  to  carry  it  with  a 
white  linen  gown  to  church,  will  you  ?  "  And  truly 
Mr.  Bulkley  could  have  strangled  her.  The  men 
understood  each  other  in  an  instant,  and  each  measured 
the  other  swiftly  and  savagely.  Leslie  Gait,  who  was 
supposed  to  be  a  very  poor  young  lawyer,  yielded  not 
one  inch  before  the  old  friend-of-the-family  air  of  the 
wealthy  visitor,  and  held  his  place  by  his  Violet  Girl's 
side  as  long  as  it  was  possible.  He  was  quick  to  recog- 
nize Mrs.  Lawton's  efforts  to  throw  Dorothy  and  Bulk- 
ley  together,  and  he  was  filled  with  a  sick  rage  as  he 
saw  the  blase  old  eyes  greedily  devouring  the  innocent 
loveliness  of  the  girl  he  adored. 

This  undercurrent  of  concealed  hatred  made  itself  so 
plainly  felt  that  no  one  was  sorry  when  the  little  party 
broke  up.  Mr.  Bulkley,  after  using  a  heavy  gold- 
handled  pocket  knife  in  cutting  some  cord  from  his 
parcels,  had  left  it  on  the  piano.  As  he  was  leaving 
he  remembered  it  and  thought  to  secure  a  few  moments 
alone  with  Dorothy,  so  he  paused  at  the  porch-step  and 
with  amazing  ill-breeding  called  familiarly  to  Dorothy 
to  bring  his  knife  to  him.  But  Leslie  Gait,  black- 
browed,  took  the' knife  from  her  a  moment,  and,  go- 
ing to  Mr.  Bulkley,  said,  as  he  extended  it  to  him: 
"  Permit  me  to  be  your  servant,  sir,  for  this  occasion  !  " 

For  a  moment  they  glared  at  each  other,  then  Bulk- 
ley  went  his  way,  saying  to  himself :  "  The  impudent 

127 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

young  upstart !  "  while  Gait  turned  back,  muttering, 
with  curling  lip :  "  Gross  old  animal !  " 

And  when  Mrs.  Lawton  had  moaned  several  times 
that  she  "  did  not  know — no,  she  was  sure  she  did  not 
know — what  was  the  matter  with  dear  Mr.  Bulkley  that 
day,"  Sybil,  on  mischief  bent,  whispered  to  Gait :  "  Do 
you  know  what  is  the  matter  with  him,  by  any 
chance  ?  " 

And  the  young  man's  eyes  were  very  hard  and  bright 
as  he  replied,  slowly :  "  Yes,  I  know  what  is  the  matter 
with  him,"  and  then,  with  a  grim  smile,  he  added,  "  just 
as  well  as  he  knows  what  is  the  matter  with  me !  " 


128 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  PROMISED  CROWN 

The  Globe  Theatre  had  closed  for  the  summer  and 
the  season  had  ended  in  the  triumphant  manner  desired 
by  the  manager.  He  had  waved  his  flags  and  beaten 
his  tin  pans  lustily  up  to  the  very  last  moment,  and  had 
successfully  hived  the  public's  swarm  of  bees  in  his 
theatre,  as  the  honey  in  the  box-office  amply  proved. 
Nothing  that  made  for  this  success  had  been  too  small 
to  receive  personal  attention,  so  even  that  city  direc- 
tory-like quarter  column  of  "  among  those  present 
were  "  had  been  cleverly  made  to  serve  him  through  his 
careful  and  judicious  introduction  of  the  names  of  two 
or  three  of  the  great  nouveau  riche,  among  the  fashion- 
ably holy  ones  of  the  Vandergrifts,  the  Asteroids,  the 
revolutionary  Byrds,  the  colonial  Fishers,  the  Carmi- 
chaels,  and  the  Vinelanders,  etc. — not,  mind  you,  as  of 
them,  but  as  notedly  close  students  of  Shakspere.  Oh, 
what  a  court- jester  was  lost  in  Thrall ! 

These  very  new  rich  men,  who,  had  they  owned  a 
folio  of  earliest  edition,  would  eagerly  have  swapped 
it  for  an  edition  de  luxe  of  to-day  and  given  fifty  dol- 
lars to  boot — so  much  they  knew  of  Shakspere — were 
nevertheless  filled  with  joy  to  see  their  names  in  that 
dear  list,  "  among  those  present  were."  And  their  grat- 

129 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

itude  to  the  man  who  had  worked  the  mirade  for  them 
would  take  the  form  of  steady  attendance  in  the  future, 
of  many  box  parties,  of  loud  public  praise. 

So,  with  these  additions  to  his  sure  clientele,  the  sea- 
son closed,  and  Manager  Thrall,  at  first  amused  and 
then  annoyed  by  the  haunting  memory  of  a  twice  seen 
face,  accepted,  as  had  been  his  wont  in  former  summers, 
an  invitation  to  join  a  gay  yachting  party,  only  to  find 
himself  more  or  less  bored.  Eating  too  much,  drink- 
ing too  much,  and  smoking  like  a  chimney  palled  on 
him.  The  stories  told  were  all  frankly  old  or  poorly  re- 
vamped, and  he  grumbled  one  night  that  "  chestnuts 
in  summer-time  were  an  anomaly !  " 

A  young  sap-head,  dizzy  with  champagne,  gazing  at 
him  in  heavy-eyed  admiration,  remarked :  "  Isn't  he 
deep?  Must  be  college  man,  eh — Thrall?  I'm  pretty 
f-fly  myself ;  I  know  '  chestnut '  a-and  '  summer,'  but 
'  n-nomaly  '  puts  me  out  in  the  first  round !  " 

And  with  a  pencil  and  paper  he  went  about  almost 
tearfully,  begging  people  to  explain  the  meaning  of  the 
word  "  anomaly  " ;  and  each  one  appealed  to  wrote  out 
a  more  wildly  absurd  definition  than  had  the  man  before 
him,  which  was  a  highly  intellectual  amusement  in- 
deed. 

Only  one  thing  had  power  to  lay,  for  a  little  while, 
the  lovely,  dark-eyed  ghost  haunting  the  actor,  and 
that  was  poker — the  great  American  game  played  with 
the  aid  of  the  gayly  colored  pasteboards  and  an  aston- 
ishing vocabulary,  containing,  among  other  things, 
"  kitties,"  "  antes,"  and  "  lob—"  no,  "  jack-pots."  A 
long  line  of  "  flushes,"  "  straights  " — royal,  bob-tailed ; 

130 


The  Promised   Crown 

and  people  "  came  in  "  and  "  went  out  "  and  "  stood 
pat,"  and  "  opened  things  "  and  "  shut  them,"  and,  in- 
deed, did  so  much  in  the  course  of  the  wonderful  game 
that  it  claimed  the  whole  attention  and  left  no  room  for 
memories  of  any  kind.  Still  poker  could  not  go  on  all 
the  time,  and  finally  when  one  night  all  hands  went 
ashore  to  attend  a  hotel-hop,  Thrall,  the  waltzer  par 
excellence,  suddenly  realized  that  each  frisky  young 
matron,  each  pretty  debutante  who  so  readily  honored 
him,  was  being  measured  by  the  standard  of  Sybil's 
beauty.  This  one  he  found  slender  to  the  point  of 
angularity;  that  one  plump  to  the  verge  of  lost  out- 
lines; another  pretty  but  crudely  overdressed;  while 
the  fair  face  that  seemed  floating  before  him  as  on 
waves  of  melody,  with  the  almost  sullen  red  mouth  that 
could  flash  into  smiles  of  such  penetrating  sweetness, 
the  sensitive  color,  wavering,  fading,  flaming  again, 
the  level,  tragic  brows  and  dark  eyes,  in  which  burning 
passion  still  slept,  but  lightly — he  knew  but  lightly— 
was,  he  told  himself,  "  simply  incomparable  " !  And 
then  he  pulled  up  short,  saying,  angrily :  "  What  in  the 
devil's  name  has  come  to  me  ?  Am  I  a  green  boy  to  be 
bowled  over  and  left  sprawling  in  the  dust  by  a  glance 
from  a  pair  of  fine  eyes  ?  Eyes  owned  by  an  inexperi- 
enced girl,  too,  a  mere  miss — one  of  those  creatures 
who,  knowing  nothing,  suspect  everything,  and  keep 
you  ever  on  guard  ?  Bah !  I  hate  green  fruit !  let  me 
have  it  ripe,  with  all  its  florid  coloring  and  rich  mellow- 
ness— even  if  many  rough  experiences  have  left  a 
bruised  spot  here  or  there.  One  can  turn  the  blemished 
side  away,  and  until  the  bruise  becomes  a  taint  that  em- 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

bitters  all  the  pulp — then? — why  then  leave  the  fruit 
and  seek  something  fresher,  but  not  green  enough  to  be 
astringent  to  the  lips." 

He  decided,  finally,  "  This  is  a  case  of  nerves,  just 
such  an  one  as  women  suffer  from.  I  am  at  the  end  of 
a  long  season,  I  have  overworked,  I  have  lived  well 
but  not  wisely — no,  certainly  not  wisely!  Result — 
nerves  are  all  at  loose  ends,  imagination  over-stimu- 
lated, so  that  a  strange  face  makes  an  unusually  vivid 
impression.  Now  the  thing  for  me  to  do  is  to  see  this 
girl's  face  again  and  let  a  second  impression  efface  the 
first,  since  my  imagination  has,  no  doubt,  been  playing 
me  tricks,  and  the  real  face  will  fall  far  short  of  the 
beauty  of  the  imaginary  one." 

So,  acting  at  once  upon  that  idea,  he  fell  back  upon 
the  perennial  "  business  telegram  "  excuse,  tore  himself 
away  from  his  jovial  companions,  and  returned  to  the 
oven-like  city,  from  which  wild  horses  could  not  have 
dragged  Mrs.  Van  Camp  until  August,  when  she  left 
with  a  heavy  heart  and  "  wholly  in  the  interest  of  ap- 
pearances," she  said.  He  arranged  with  the  old  lady 
for  a  business  chat  with  her  god-daughter  next  day 
but  one  and  spent  the  intervening  time  superintending 
the  movements  of  a  brigade  of  cleaners,  painters,  and 
paper-hangers  whom  he  had  sent  charging  through  the 
closed  theatre — the  cleaners  routing  out  dust  and  dirt 
from  stairs  and  floors  and  long-dimmed  windows,  the 
painters  following  and  covering  up  head-marks,  finger- 
marks, scratches,  or  bruises  appearing  on  the  white 
woodwork  and  retouching  the  gilding  where  it  had 
darkened  or  worn  thin ;  while  the  paper-hangers  made 

132 


The  Promised  Crown 

the  boxes  not  only  fresh  but  most  attractive  to  women, 
through  hanging  them  with  the  dull,  lustreless  velvet 
paper  that  makes  such  a  perfect  background  for  a  care- 
ful toilette  and  its  lovely  wearer. 

It  was  a  dreary  job,  for  surely  one  can  find  no  more 
desolate  and  melancholy  place  in  a  great  city  than  a 
theatre  seen  by  daylight.  From  the  front  of  the  house 
one  receives  an  impression  of  loss.  The  sight  of  an 
empty  chair  is  saddening — here  are  a  thousand  of  them. 
This  dimness  and  vastness,  this  gilding  and  crystal  and 
metal  that  does  not  glisten  nor  glitter.  The  depress- 
ing silence  of  checked  music,  of  vanished  laughter — 
even  an  actor  shivers  at  sight  of  the  auditorium  of  a 
closed  theatre ;  it  is  like  looking  on  the  face  of  a  dead 
pleasure.  But  to  turn  about  and  look  at  the  stage  is 
even  worse,  so  distressingly  complete  is  the  betrayal  of 
its  shabby  deceptions.  It  is  as  though  an  admired, 
brilliant,  and  successful  liar  stood  there  who  had  been 
found  out  and  suddenly  reduced  to  telling  the  bare,  bald 
truth.  No,  a  day  in  a  closed  theatre  during  the  house- 
cleaning  period  is  not  an  enlivening  experience,  and 
Thrall  told  himself  that  that  was  why  he  looked  for- 
ward so  eagerly  to  his  late  afternoon  call  at  Mrs.  Van 
Camp's,  where  he  was  to  have  his  business  chat  with 
Sybil. 

And  then  when  he  had  arrived  and  was  being  ef- 
fusively greeted  by  Mrs.  Van  Camp,  a  gracious  young 
figure  in  a  white  linen  gown  came  slowly  out  from  the 
shadows  of  the  darkened  room,  a  red  damask  rose 
drowsing  on  her  breast,  and,  smiling,  waited  to  offer 
him  greeting;  and  in  that  moment  he  knew  his  plan 

133 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

had  failed — the  second  impression  would  not  efface 
the  first,  because  the  real,  the  living  face  was  fairer 
than  his  mental  portrait  of  it. 

So  it  happened  that  Mr.  Thrall's  manner  toward  this 
young  would-be  actress  was  one  of  dignity  and  reserve 
that  was  in  sharp  contrast  to  the  gay  freedom  and 
almost  boyish  liberty  of  his  conduct  toward  his  ancient 
hostess,  who  did  her  fair  share  toward  spoiling  him. 
And  not  knowing  the  true  cause  of  the  swift  change 
and  difference,  she  could  but  consider  him  a  very  prop- 
erly correct  young  man  in  his  attitude  as  the  manager 
of  her  namesake,  Sybil  Lawton ;  and  therefore  she  with- 
drew into  the  far  extension  breakfast-room  and  con- 
versed with  a  mumbling  old  parrot,  who  for  thirty 
years  had  implored  the  people  of  his  world  to  "  scratch 
Polly's  head,"  and  had  invariably  rewarded  the  good 
Samaritan  who  heeded  his  appeal  by  biting  viciously 
the  hand  that  scratched. 

Only  an  occasional  artificial  laugh  from  Polly 
reached  to  the  dim  parlor,  whose  white-matted  floor, 
flowery  chintz  furniture  covering,  great  Chinese 
screens,  strange  sea-shells,  old  portraits,  and  mighty 
china  jars  made  a  quaint  eighteenth  century  sort  of 
background  for  the  white-gowned  maiden  with  the 
dark,  eager  face,  whom  her  father  had  lovingly  likened 
to  a  June  rose.  And  the  ever-alert  dramatic  instinct 
of  the  actor-manager,  working  in  seeming  independ- 
ence of  the  preoccupied  mere  man  and  naissant  lover, 
took  note  of  the  room  as  a  possible  charming  stage- 
setting  for  some  new  comedy.  That  instinct,  keen, 
never  sleeping,  is  one  of  the  unpleasant  traits  in  the 

134 


The  Promised  Crown 

make-up  of  a  great  actor ;  for  there  is  no  situation  in 
life  too  sacred,  no  emotion  even  of  his  own  heart  too 
tender  not  to  be  "  used  "  if  it  seems  dramatic. 

And  so  now,  through  the  bald,  forced  questions  with 
which  he  began  his  interview,  like  his  dignified  reserve 
of  manner,  were  the  result  of  a  violent  restraint,  he  was 
putting  upon  a  sudden  passionate  longing — an  idiotic 
impulse  that  had  seized  him  at  sight  of  Sybil,  to  take 
her  head  between  his  hands  and  bury  his  face  in  the 
warm  darkness  of  her  cloudy  hair — even  that  struggle 
with  impulse  did  not  prevent  the  dramatic  instinct  of 
the  stage-manager  from  taking  note  of  surroundings. 

Presently  the  calm  and  earnest  answers  of  the  girl 
and  his  own  effort  at  self-control  restored  his  poise, 
and  his  more  gracious  manner  returned  to  him.  He 
found  that  she  was  faithfully  devoting  herself  to  the 
small  parts  first;  and  in  discussing  the  Shaksperian 
characters  she  put  questions  to  him  anent  the  meaning 
of  certain  passages  that  more  than  once  "  gave  him 
pause  "  ere  he  could  answer  them.  She  even  so  far 
forgot  her  awe  of  him  as  manager  as  boldly  to  differ 
with  the  view  he  took  of  Desdemona's  character,  she 
declaring  that  a  greater  tragedy  than  mere  physical 
murder  would  have  come  about  had  the  fair  Venetian 
lived  longer. 

"  No !  no !  "  cried  Sybil,  "  she  was  not  the  doll  you 
think  her!  High-born,  high-bred,  musician,  artist, 
student,  over-accomplished,  over-cultivated — the  intel- 
lect rebelled !  Over-guarded,  over-restrained,  re- 
pressed— nature  revolted.  Othello,  the  splendid  per- 
fection of  the  animal-man  looming  in  black  majesty 

135 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

against  a  background  of  flame  and  smoke,  glittering  in 
harness,  blazing  with  honors  and  orders,  armed  with 
barbaric  weapons — his  very  power  to  destroy  fasci- 
nated !  Contrariety  attracted  and  a  great  wave  of  pas- 
sion swept  the  petted  daughter  of  the  Venetian  senator 
into  the  arms  of  the  Moorish  warrior.  But  had  she 
lived  to  regain  her  normal  vision — to  see  her  husband 
as  the  world  saw  him,  merely  a  rough  but  very  honest 
soldier,  without  tastes  or  even  memories  in  common — 
she  would  have  wearied  of  him  and  of  their  wandering 
life.  She  would  have  longed  for  the  ease  and  luxury 
and  refinement  of  old  days.  She  would  have  sighed  for 
the  companionship  of  the  learned  and  accomplished — 
and  the  beautiful  "  misunderstood,"  being  no  longer 
blind  with  passion,  would  probably  have  gone,  girl 
fashion,  to  the  other  extreme  and  have  loathed  the 
blackness  of  her  lord,  while  adoring,  possibly,  the 
whiteness  of — y-e-s,  there  might  be  a  worse  trag- 
edy than  the  dreadful  murder  of  innocent  Desde- 
mona ! " 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Sybil,  in  trepidation,  for  Thrall 
had  broken  into  sudden,  hearty  laughter,  "  oh,  are  my 
ideas  so  bad  as  that  ?  It's — it's  horrid  to  be  laughed  at, 
but  I  suppose  I  have  not  expressed  myself  very  clearly ; 
only  if  Desdemona  inherited  the  characteristics  of  her 
people,  duplicity  was  as  strong  in  her  as  love  of  luxury 
and  appreciation  of  art — and  a  dead  passion  is  a  thing 
to  conceal;  and  when  concealment  begins,  duplicity 
may  follow,  may  it  not?  " 

She  stopped  suddenly ;  she  had  spoken  rapidly,  in  im- 
petuous self-defence.  Now  angry  tears  rushed  to  her 

136 


The  Promised  Crown 

eyes.  "  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  I  don't  make  you  understand 
one  bit !  No  wonder  you  laugh !  Only  I  feel  some- 
how that  Desdemona's  was  not  a  love  that  would  have 
lasted.  But  I'm  punished  for  going  out  beyond  my 
depth  in  argument.  I  won't  do  it  again  !  " 

The  fact  that  Sybil's  reasoning  had  been  so  good 
made  it  all  the  harder  for  Thrall  to  explain  his  laugh- 
ter. Few  men  understood  the  eternal  feminine  better 
than  he  did ;  and  when  the  young  girl,  with  innocent, 
instinctive  knowledge,  was  speaking  of  a  "  passion  "  as 
distinct  from  "  love,"  her  glance  met  his  as  straightly, 
as  frankly,  as  if  she  had  been  a  boy.  And  suddenly 
there  came  to  him  the  memory  of  a  little  child  he  had 
once  seen  playing,  ignorantly  happy,  with  his  mother's 
scissors  and  his  father's  knife,  and  he  laughed  aloud  in 
spite  of  himself,  for  he  knew  well  that  the  girl  was 
clashing  together  her  terms  of  "  love  "  and  "  passion  " 
with  just  as  much  real  knowledge  as  the  baby  had  had 
of  the  scissors  and  the  knife.  And  when  he  saw  the 
angry  tears  shining  in  her  eyes  he  could  have  kissed 
them  away  with  as  pure  tenderness  as  if  she  had  been 
that  baby's  self. 

And  all  the  time  the  managerial  side  of  his  brain,  so 
to  speak,  was  receiving  impressions  and  was  trying  to 
get  the  attention  of  the  man's  whole  mind;  and  pres- 
ently, through  the  smallest  of  incidents,  it  succeeded. 
While  Thrall  was  trying  to  reassure  Sybil  and  convince 
her  that  he  had  meant  no  mockery  by  his  laughter,  she 
sat  with  down-bent  face,  hiding  her  mortifying  tears. 
He  noted  the  hair,  dark  clouding  over  the  straight, 
black  brows,  the  outward  thrust  of  the  sullen,  red  lip 

137 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

that  made  and  kept  the  whole  face  mutinous,  when 
a  quick  glint  came  to  the  averted  eyes,  a  lift  to  the 
brows,  a  tremor  to  the  lips  that  suddenly  parted,  curling 
like  petals  into  the  most  delicious  smile  ever  made 
for  man's  undoing.  Old  Poll,  sidling  into  view  and 
waddling  across  the  floor  in  search  of  mischief,  had 
caused  the  swift  change  of  expression,  and  the  expres- 
sion had  brought  the  stage-manager  to  the  front  with 
a  bound. 

"  Great  Shakspere !  "  said  Thrall  to  himself ;  "  what 
a  face  for  the  balcony  scene!  The  sweetness — the 
positive  radiance — the  lovely  outline  of  the  down- 
bent  face !  I've  half  a  mind — I — why,  the  girl  has  just 
shown  she  has  brains,  whether  her  ideas  of  Desdemona 
are  right  or  wrong;  it  proves  that  she  can  think  for 
herself !  And — and  if  to  her  beauty,  youth,  and  brains 
you  can  add  good  family,  and  to  them  all  the  subtle, 
intangible  thing  we  call  charm — what  do  all  these 
things  mean  to  a  manager?  Why,  unless  he's  a  dolt, 
a  blind  bat,  they  mean  a  find,  a  discovery,  a  future  card 
of  great  commercial  value!  Dear  Lord!  if  I  only 
knew  whether  she  could  walk  across  the  stage  without 
going  to  pieces,  whether  the  sight  of  the  audience 
would  give  her  a  palsy !  " 

He  had  come  there  intending  to  tell  her  that  she  was 
to  have  a  part  of  eight  lines  in  the  opening  play  of  the 
New  York  season — but  now,  but  now !  New  ideas 
were  rushing  through  his  mind.  If  only  she  had  a  lit- 
tle training!  All  at  once — apropos  of  nothing,  he 
asked :  "  Miss  Lawton,  do  you  dance  ?  " 

She  raised  her  eyes  in  unspeakable  surprise. 

138 


The  Promised  Crown 

His  face  brightened ;  he  went  on  rising  as  he  spoke : 
"  Do  you  waltz  ?  " 

In  a  breath  she  was  swaying  in  his  encircling  arms 
to  the  waltz  he  softly  hummed.  As  they  circled  the  big 
room  and  stopped  by  the  window  a  boy  went  down  the 
street,  whistling  high  and  clear,  and  simply  from  the 
actor-like  habit  of  quoting,  Thrall  said,  with  a  laugh : 

"  It  was  the  lark— the  herald  of  the  morn  ! " 

When,  like  a  flash,  Sybil,  with  pretty  impatience  and 
obstinacy,  made  response : 

"  It  was  the  nightingale  and  not  the  lark, 
That  pierced  the  fearful  hollow  of  thine  ear  !  " 

The  surprise  was  so  startling  that  Thrall  caught  the 
girl's  face  between  his  hands  almost  roughly,  exclaim- 
ing :  "  Why !  do  you  know  the  lines  of  Juliet  ?  " 

And  poutingly  she  answered :  "  Does  not  every 
stage-struck  girl  know  them  ?  " 

But  he  frowned :  "  That's  no  answer !  Be  direct  in 
matters  of  business!  Do  you  or  do  you  not  know 
Juliet's  lines?" 

She  was  vaguely  conscious  that  she  really  ought  to 
be  angry  at  the  liberty  this  man  was  guilty  of,  but  she 
quailed  at  the  frown  and  answered,  meekly :  "  Only 
part  of  them.  I  studied  up  to  the  potion  scene,  and 
there  I  got  frightened  and  stopped ! " 

"  Ah !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  and  may  I  ask  what  fright- 
ened you  ?  "  He  released  her  as  he  spoke. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  with  her  head  a  little  to  one  side, 
as  she  traced  the  pattern  on  the  curtain  with  one  slim 

139 


A  Pasteboard   Crown 

finger,  "  well,  you  see,  it  was  night,  and — and  Dorrie 
was  asleep — and — there  are  a  good  many  owls  in  our 
trees,  and  they  do  hoot  and  shiver  their  voices  so !  And 
they  and  the  vault  and  the  '  dead  men's  bones '  rather 
got  on  my  nerves,  I  suppose,  for  I  only  got  as  far  as 
Tybalt — in  his  '  festering  shroud  ' — when  I  was  so 
scared  I  backed  over  to  the  bed  and  Dorrie!  Oh,  I 
didn't  dare  turn  around,  you  see !  " 

Stewart  Thrall  fairly  shook  with  laughter,  in  which 
this  time  both  Sybil  and  Polly  joined.  Then  he  said 
at  last,  not  without  a  touch  of  sarcasm :  "  It  was  not 
the  fear  of  acting  the  part  that  disturbed  you,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  "  she  replied  with  great  simplicity.  "  It's 
too  soon  to  get  frightened  about  that — ages  too  soon !  " 
She  sighed  heavily :  "  I'm  nineteen  now,  and  I  sup- 
pose I  must  wait  years  and  years — five  at  the  very  least 
— before  I  dare  even  to  hope  to  act  Juliet?  And  then 
people  say  no  one  can  play  her  unless  they  have  loved." 

"  No  one  can,"  assented  Thrall. 

"  Oh,  well,  in  five  years,"  Sybil  responded,  hopefully 
and  vaguely. 

"  Yes,"  thought  the  man,  "  in  far  less  than  five  years, 
you  lovely  child,  you  will  have  learned  to  play  Juliet !  " 

An  old  engraving  of  Mrs.  Siddons  hung  upon  the 
wall,  and  Sybil  stood  looking  at  it.  The  crown  the 
actress  wore  well  became  the  high  chill  beauty  of  her 
face. 

"  Queen  of  the  English-speaking  stage,"  murmured 
Sybil.  "  How  proud  and  happy  she  must  have  been ! 
what  love  and  homage  her  fame  must  have  won  from 
her  countrymen ! "  Quickly  turning  her  head,  she 

140 


The  Promised  Crown 

asked :  "  Mr.  Thrall,  when  you  have  become  famous, 
do  you  forget  all  the  bitterness  of  past  struggles  and 
feel  like  loving  the  whole  world  for  very  joy  and  grat- 
itude?" 

"  Having  no  experience  to  guide  me,  I  am  unable  to 
answer  your  question,"  was  the  somewhat  curt  reply. 

"  Unable  ?  "  repeated  the  girl,  all  her  respectful  ad- 
miration writ  large  upon  her  face.  "  You  mean " 

"  I  mean,"  he  interrupted,  "  that  I  am  not  famous ; 
that  now  I  never  shall  be!  I  started  out  meaning 
to — to  win  fame,  but  I — missed  the  way."  He  paused 
a  moment,  then  went  on,  bitterly :  "  Question  me  about 
notoriety,  Miss  Lawton,  and  no  man  alive  can  give  you 
more  authentic  information  as  to  the  method  of  its 
creation,  its  staying  power,  and  its  value.  But  I  know 
not  fame !  If  I  died  to-morrow  I'd  die  like  a  dog — so 
far  as  memory  or  renown  is  concerned.  Learn  early 
to  distinguish  between  the  sound,  noise,  and  rumor 
of  notoriety  and  the  credit,  honor,  and  excellence  of 
fame!" 

"  I'll  try,"  the  girl  answered,  simply,  and  then  she 
added,  gently :  "  I'm  sorry  you  missed  the  way !  " 

A  dimness  came  into  the  man's  eyes  as  he  responded, 
briefly,  "  Thank  you ! "  and  gazed  at  the  picture  that 
Sybil  had  returned  to. 

"  Crowned  queen !  "  she  repeated.  "  Of  course  if 
you  give  me  the  chance,  Mr.  Thrall,  I  shall  work  hard 
for  work's  own  sake,  as  well  as  to  be  a  bread-winner. 
But  all  the  time  down  in  my  heart  I  shall  hope  and  hope 
that  some  day,  in  years  to  come,  I  may  win  a  crown  like 
that!" 

141 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

The  actor  laughed  derisively.  "  A  pasteboard 
crown,"  he  cried,  "  so  thinly  covered  with  gold-leaf  you 
dare  not  try  to  burnish  it !  " 

"  You  do  not  mean  that,  Mr.  Thrall !  " 

"  I  do  mean  it !  A  cheap  and  gaudy  thing,  the  out- 
side blazing  with  rare  jewels,  made  of  glass !  In- 
side, paper,  glue — a  pasteboard  crown !  A  thing 
worthless,  meaningless ! " 

"  No ! "  protested  the  girl ;  "  your  words  are  very 
cruel !  I  do  not  think  you  rightly  judge  the  value  of 
the  Crown  Dramatic,  for  even  if  it  were  but  pasteboard 
it  would  not  be  worthless  or  meaningless !  It  would 
still  be  a  sign,  a  symbol,  of  artistic  triumph,  of  true 
excellence,  of  the  world's  approval !  " 

"  You  are  obstinate,"  he  declared. 

"And  you  are  not  grateful  to  your  profession,  I'm 
afraid,"  she  said,  reproachfully;  then  she  hurriedly 
added :  "  I  beg  your  pardon !  Of  course  you  know 
of  what  you  speak,  and  I  am  very  presuming  in  my 
ignorance,  but " — she  clasped  her  hands  tightly  above 
the  rose  on  her  breast — "  I  long  to  wear  that  crown 
some  day." 

A  few  red  petals  fell  from  the  rose  and  were  caught 
in  Thrall's  hand.  He  glanced  at  Sybil's  rapt  young 
face — his  resolve  was  taken.  "  You  shall  have  your 
wish,"  he  said.  "  I  will  place  the  crown  upon  your 
head ;  only  promise  not  to  reproach  me  when  you  find 
for  yourself  that  it  is  only  pasteboard !  " 


142 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   FORMING  OF  THE  CHRYSALIS 

That  Stewart  Thrall  wasted  no  time  when  once  a 
plan  was  settled  upon  and  a  thing  seriously  under- 
taken may  be  gathered  from  a  letter  written  in  a  West- 
ern city  by  the  manager  of  a  stock  company  playing 
a  summer  season  in  the  theatre  attached  to  a  soldiers' 
home.  The  park  coaxed  people  from  the  city,  and  the 
theatre  then  drew  them  from  the  park  to  the  play. 

This  letter,  having  mentioned  the  safe  arrival  of  cer- 
tain manuscripts,  scene-plots,  and  property-plots,  con- 
tinued : 

"  And  now  about  the  young  maid  of  high  degree  you  sent 
us,  with  the  valiant  Jim  Roberts  acting  as  guard  and  hench- 
man. And,  to  begin  at  the  ending,  like  the  Irishman  I  am, 
let  me  just  tell  you  no  better  sheep-dog  ever  lived  than  this 
same  James.  He's  kept  as  straight  as  a  colonial  front-door — 
honest,  he  has !  If  you  could  see  the  poor  devil  shake  and 
quake  for  need  of  a  few  drops  of  '  mountain  dew/  you'd 
believe  me  fast  enough !  He  escorts  her  to  and  from  the 
theatre  and  follows  her  like  a  secret-service  man  whenever  she 
goes  to  the  city  of  an  errand.  Of  course,  keeping  straight  to 
play  sheep-dog  leaves  him  all  right  as  to  memory  too,  and 
he  hasn't  lost  a  word  since  he's  been  here. 

"  Now  as  to  the  young  damsel  you  want  me  to  report  on. 
She's  all  right  and  safe  in  the  boarding-house  my  wife  secured 

143 


A  Pasteboard   Crown 

for  her.  She's  a  little  too  stiff  and  reserved  and  a  great  deal 
too  pretty  to  be  very  thoroughly  liked  by  the  women.  She 
started  out  very  friendly  and  pleasant,  but — well,  you  see,  Lou 
Daskam  and  Dick  Turner  are  engaged  to  each  other,  and 
George  Jones  and  his  wife  Grace  have  only  been  married  a 
few  months,  and  their  unrestrained  endearments  were  some- 
what confusing  to  her  conservative  mind.  My  wife  explained 
matters  to  her ;  but  though  she  now  understands  that  the  whole 
affair  was  a  question  of  manners,  not  of  morals,  she  remains 
a  bit  starchy  toward  the  amorous  four. 

"  As  to  business — she's  doing  well.  She's  got  act  in  her, 
sure!  And  Lord!  what  a  face  for  the  footlights!  My  wife's 
teaching  her  how  to  make-up,  and  when  she's  properly  rouged 
and  carmined  and  promaded,  and  that  fleece  of  black  hair 
loosened  about  her  head,  she's  a  cross  between  a  princess  and 
a  gypsy,  with  the  bearing  of  one  and  the  coloring  of  the 
other.  The  audience  has  not  disturbed  her  much.  At  my 
advice  she  looks  at  the  people  who  are  on  the  stage  with  her, 
instead  of  staring  in  front  all  the  time.  The  thing  that  em- 
barrassed her  most  was  the  tilt  of  the  stage,  which  is  very 
steep  in  this  shop.  That  worried  her  a  bit  at  first,  but  she 
walks  quite  naturally  and  unconsciously  now.  She  is  learn- 
ing to  gauge  her  voice  to  the  house — by  my  rule.  I  send 
someone  out  in  front,  who  stands  at  the  back  of  the  seats. 
When  her  scene  is  on,  she  glances  at  him.  If  he  shifts  about, 
or  bends  his  head  as  if  to  hear  better,  she  gently  raises  her 
voice  or  speaks  with  a  little  more  force,  until  he  stands  still, 
hearing  satisfactorily.  She  will  soon  be  able  to  make  the  voice 
test  in  any  theatre  by  watching  for  a  moment  or  two  some 
distant  auditor. 

"  The  greatest  stumbling-block  in  her  way  is  that,  so  far, 
she  simply  cannot  talk  while  walking.  She  speaks  her  exit 
speech  standing  still,  and  then  walks  off  in  an  awkward 
silence,  or  she  walks  to  the  door  silently,  then  speaks  her  lines 
and  pops  off — making  the  house  laugh. 

"  To-day  Jim  Roberts  has  taken  her  in  hand,  and  out  on 
the  stage  I  can  hear  this  going  on:  (Girl's  voice)  '  I  will  go* 

144 


The  Forming  of  the  Chrysalis 

(Jim's  voice,  warningly:  'Step!')  'to  my  aunt's'  (Jim: 
'  Step  ! ')  '  and  say  '  ('  Step ! ')  '  I  shall  keep '  ('  Step ! ')  'my 
promise'  ('Step!')  'to  marry  Harry!'  ('Exit!!'  shouts 
Jim.)  'Now,  Miss  Sybil,  try  it  again,  and  say  "step"  to 
yourself  this  time.  Pretty  soon  your  feet  will  carry  you  along 
unconsciously.' 

"  Now  her  voice,  sounding  very  forlorn  and  unbelieving, 
begins:  'I  will  go  (step)  to  my  aunt's  (step) ' 

"  It  sounds  awfully  funny,  but  she's  a  persistent  little  devil, 
and  she  will  hang  on  till  she  can  make  a  decent  exit. 

"  I'd  like  to  bet  something,  old  man,  that  I'm  on  to  your 
game !  You  are  not  a  man  to  put  me  into  baby-farming  like 
this  for  nothing.  Well,  good  luck!  She's  bright  and  quick, 
and  I'm  crowding  as  much  '  shop '  into  her  head  as  I  can  on 
short  notice.  Jim  Roberts  has  done  a  good  deal  in  the  way 
of  teaching  her  technicalities.  She  understands  all  the  en- 
trance directions,  the  uppers  and  lowers  and  centres,  etc. 

"  I  believe  that's  all.  Any  further  orders  will  be  attended 
to.  Thank  you  for  the  use  of  that  play — it  pulled  us  through 
in  fine  shape.  Fraternally, 

"  J.  A.  WILLIAMSON." 

By  the  same  mail  there  had  come  a  second  letter  from 
the  theatre  at  the  Soldiers'  Home.  It  was  written  with 
woful  shakiness  showing  in  every  spidery  line,  and 
with  more  than  a  spider's  venom  in  its  words.  The 
envelope  held,  too,  a  folded  ten-dollar  note,  which  was 
a  return  for  the  like  amount  paid  out  by  Thrall  to  a 
certain  Mrs.  Hoskins,  who  in  her  character  of  sus- 
picious landlady  had  basely  broken  her  promise  "  to 
wait  a  week,"  and  had  impudently  presented  her  claim 
against  Roberts  to  his  manager — which  was  certainly 
an  injurious  proceeding  and  treacherous  as  well. 
Therefore  the  letter  opened  with  some  remarks  about 
landladies,  individual  and  in  bulk,  and  though  his  style 

145 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

was  a  trifle  florid  and  his  spirit  somewhat  bitter,  he 
nevertheless  showed  a  thorough  and  discriminating 
knowledge  of  his  subject,  particularly  where  he  pointed 
out  the  difference  between  a  "  she-shylock "  and  a 
harpy  (Mrs.  Hoskins  was  a  harpy),  the  shylock  being, 
he  declared,  ever  satisfied  with  her  single  pound  of 
flesh,  while  the  harpy,  beginning  with  your  eyes,  picks 
your  every  bone  bare,  and  then  tries  to  reach  through 
your  vitals. 

Having  eased  his  bosom  of  much  perilous  stuff,  he 
went  on : 

"  Business  is  very  good.  The  company  is  far  better  than 
you'd  expect  to  see  at  the  salaries  paid,  but  every  one's  so 
devilish  glad  to  get  something  to  do  in  the  summer  that  they 
are  willing  to  work  on  half  pay.  Old  Williamson's  a  first- 
class  stage-manager — queer  thing  he  never  gets  into  New 
York,  and  he's  taking  so  much  pains  with  Miss  Lawton,  or 
Miss  Sylvia  Latimer,  as  you've  got  her  billed  here,  that  every- 
one is  talking  and  wondering  about  it.  But  there's  no  mystery 
to  me  in  this  matter  any  longer.  I  went  to  her  door  yesterday 
to  hand  in  a  few  pounds  of  mail  from  her  people — they  must 
all  write  every  day  of  the  week  to  her.  She  was  not  in  the 
room,  but  the  door  was  ajar,  and  I  entered  and  placed  the 
letters  on  the  table.  As  I  did  so  the  wind  fluttered  open  the 
leaves  of  a  play-book — it  was  '  Romeo  and  Juliet,'  and  the 
lines  of  Juliet  were  all  pencil-marked  for  study.  So  that's 
the  game,  is  it?  That's  why  the  girl  is  hidden  under  a  stage- 
name,  while  she  is  learning  her  acting  a-b-abs  out  here  in  the 
West?  That's  why  I  suddenly  become  of  service  to  you?  I 
am  to  guard  this  fruit  from  wicked  little  boys  who  may  look 
over  the  orchard  wall  and  spy  it  out?  Oh,  you  think  you  are 
immeasurably  deep,  don't  you?  Well,  you're  not !  But  you're 
the  damndest,  luckiest  beggar  on  earth !  And  you're  smart — 
oh,  yes,  you're  smart,  where  number  one  comes  in! 

146 


The  Forming  of  the  Chrysalis 

"  What  a  card  you  have  found !  and  how  cleverly  you  will 
play  it,  and  gather  in  the  stakes — for  yourself!  Beautiful, 
talented,  poor,  and  good — now !  Don't  give  me  your  sneer, 
please !  Even  a  drunkard  knows  an  honest  woman  when  he 
comes  up  with  one.  And  this  girl  is  a  wonder!  She  is  inno- 
cent, though  she's  not  ignorant.  Theoretically  she  knows  of 
sin's  existence — her  stories,  poems,  and  plays  have  all  made 
her  so  monstrous  wise ;  but,  practically,  she  is  as  much  of  a 
child  as  was  that  other  girl  who  came  to  you  to  learn  to  be 
an  actress.  Damn  you !  Oh,  yes,  I  know  this  girl  has  gifts 
my  sister  Bess  never  had,  but — purity  is  the  subject  now,  and 
Sybil  Lawton  looks  at  you  with  precisely  the  same  innocent, 
dauntless  eyes  that  made  my  sister  irresistible.  Poor  little 
maid !  If  it  were  not  that  she  and  the  Missus,  and  even  this 
last,  your  pet  devil  of  a  divorcee,  were  all  such  fair  women, 
I'd  think  your  sending  me  on  here  to  guard  this  girl  would 
have  made  me  suspicious  of  another  sort  of  game !  See  here, 
Thrall,  don't  you  come  any  of  your  dam'd  drooping-eyelid  and 
lowered-voice  effect  over  this  girl !  Leave  her  alone,  if  you 
know  when  you  are  well  off.  I  know  I've  been  your  dog, 
your  cur,  but  curs  snap  sometimes,  and  a  silence,  however 
long,  may  be  broken.  No,  we  don't  want  any  Bessie  in  this ! 
Stewart  Thrall,  manager — even  Stewart  Thrall,  Romeo  to  the 
loveliest  Juliet  God  ever  made !  But,  don't  you  see  how  like 
she  is  to  your  victim,  little  Bessie,  save  in  color  of  her 
hair  and  eyes?  How  like!  For  God's  sake  let  that  likeness 
protect — I — oh,  my  head's  all  gone  to  pieces!  No,  I'm  not 
drunk!  I'm  queer  for  want  of  drink — but  I  dare  not  touch 
it  while  I  have  her  to  care  for.  I  think  if  I  met  her  eyes  when 
I  was  '  off '  I'd  curl  up  like  a  worm  that's  stepped  on ! 

"  She — so  gentle  and  so  kind !  And  yet  Herod  could  not 
touch  her  for  pride !  There,  I've  had  a  smoke ;  I'm  steadier 
now.  Yes,  your  find  is  a  great  one.  When  once  she  con- 
quers her  trouble  over  her  exits  she  will  be  quite  a  decent 
actress.  Her  voice  is  clear  and  carries  well.  Hers  is  a  genuine 
stage  beauty  too,  lighting  up  radiantly.  To  your  question — 
yes,  she  is  easily  coached.  I've  got  rather  a  long  part  to  break 

147 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

in,  so  I  guess  I'll  go  at  it,  after  I  mail  this  and  get  a  bite. 
Watching  others'  preserves  is  hungry  work.  Tout  a  vous ! — 
which  I  wish  I  wasn't!  JIM." 

"  Confound  him !  "  said  Thrall,  "  I  don't  know  when 
he  is  worst — crazy  drunk  or  crazy  sober !  Why  must 
he  remind  me  of  that  resemblance?  For,  deuce  take 
him,  it  does  exist!  It's  not  his  drunken  fancy,  as  I 
wish  it  were !  " 

He  shivered  in  the  warmth  as  he  recalled  the  fair, 
childish  face  that  used  to  beam  with  adoration  upon 
him,  unconscious  avowal  shining  in  each  blue,  honest 
eye.  Shallow  and  inconsequent  he  had  thought  the 
little  creature,  and  yet  she  had  snapped  the  thread  of 
life  with  her  own  hand  rather  than  wait  for  its  slow 
fraying  under  abandonment  and  separation  from  him. 
And  Jim,  by  his  silence  and  his  craft  combined,  had 
averted  an  awful  scandal. 

He  wiped  his  forehead  and  re-read  the  letter.  Sud- 
denly his  face  flushed.  "  The  drivelling  idiot ! "  he 
muttered.  "  I  believe  in  my  soul  he's  in  love  with  this 
little  Crown  Princess,  who  yearns  to  be  a  Queen !  If 
he  dares  to  let  her  know  of  it  I'll  wring  his  neck !  He's 
mighty  brave  on  paper — threatening  me,  who  has  kept 
him  out  of  the  poor-house  these  five  years!  And  my 
young  affections  are  supposed  to  be  strictly  confined  to 
'  the  fair  Ophelia  '  type,  eh  ?  I  am  to  be  blind  to  the  fact 
that  there's  more  beauty  in  this  dark,  lowering  young 
face,  more  temptation  in  the  upward  curl  of  her  swift 
smile,  than  could  be  found  in  the  pink-and-white  re- 
dundancy of  the  most  perfect  Rubens  type  alive! 
Oh,  I  am  a  fool  to  notice  his  rambling,  maudlin  non- 
148 


The  Forming  of  the  Chrysalis 

sense !  Let  me  keep  to  the  business  in  hand.  It's 
very  evident  that  this  girl  has  something  in  her,  when 
tough  old  Williamson  finds  her  promising  and  can 
see  her  beauty  too.  And  this  crazy  wretch,  Jim,  who 
knows  the  requirements  of  a  good  actress  as  well  as 
I  do,  says  she's  quite  a  decent  actress  now.  All  of 
which  means  that  if  she  is  let  alone  she  will  probably 
succeed  only  after  years  of  struggle  and  hard  work 
and  many  disappointments.  Yet  that  is  the  natural, 
normal  way  to  success.  Perhaps  I'd  better  leave  her 
alone  [surely,  if  Stewart  Thrall  ever  had  a  guardian 
angel,  its  friendly  whisper  was  in  his  ear  at  that  mo- 
ment]— leave  her  to  work  out  her  own  artistic  sal- 
vation? I — I  could  give  her  a  start — I  could  use  my 
influence  to  secure  a  good  position  somewhere  for  her 
first  season.  That  would  be  the  wise  thing,  Stewart, 
my  boy !  For  there's  no  denying  the  girl's  getting  too 
strong  a  hold  on  my  imagination.  Yet  what  a  furore 
it  would  create  to  spring  this  unknown,  unheard-of 
beauty  upon  the  public !  What  a  vision  she  would  be 
in  the  white  satin  lace  and  pearls  of  Juliet,  with  her 
young,  dark,  swift-changing  face;  and,  as  for  acting 
the  part,  why — "  a  slow  smile  crept  across  his  lips, 
unconsciously  he  drooped  his  heavily  fringed  eyelids, 
in  the  very  way  that  Jim  Roberts  had  cursed,  and  mur- 
mured :  "I  could  teach  her — I  could  teach  her.  This 
letter  says  she  is  easily  coached.  I  could  open  the  sea- 
son with  this  new  French  play,  holding  '  The  Duke's 
Motto '  ready  for  revival  in  case  the  new  play  doesn't 
strike  hard  enough ;  and  meantime  I  could  either  place 
my  little  Princess  with  old  Mrs.  Mordaunt  for  train- 
HP 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

ing,  or — coach  her  myself,  work  the  press  to  arouse 
curiosity,  and  by  February  at  furthest  spring  my  sur- 
prise— play  my  great  card !  The  production  will  cost 
— but  I'll  gather  it  in  again  from  the  houses  she  will 
draw,  if  I  bring  her  out  as  a  star.  I  suppose  I'd  be 
wiser  to  drop  this  plan — but,  oh,  by  Jove,  I  can't!  I 
promised,  fairly  and  squarely  promised,  she  should 
have  her  crown.  Poor  little  girl !  I'd  like  to  make 
the  path  to  success  easier  to  her  than  most  people  find 
it.  Then,  again,  some  cheap  tuppenny-ha'penny  actor 
may  gather  her  up  and  marry  her,  out  of  hand,  and  so 
spoil  all  her  future.  Oh,  devil  take  it !  I'll  toss  a  coin. 
No,  I  won't,  either;  that  doesn't  seem  decent!  But 
I'll  wait  for  the  next  letter,  and  if  she  has  learned  by 
that  time  to  make  a  correct  exit,  I'll  bring  her  back 
here  at  the  end  of  old  Williamson's  summer  season, 
and  begin  coaching  her  on  the  quiet  for  the  great  coup ! 
If  she  has  not  yet  succeeded,  I  leave  her  to  her  own 
efforts.  There,  fate  has  it  to  manage  now !  I  stand 
aside  and  wait !  " 

Seven  days  later  this  telegram  reached  Jim  Roberts : 

"  Bring  Miss  L on  here  at  close.     She  can't  go 

with  Williamson  for  winter  season.  Train  arrives 
late,  so  escort  her  to  Riverdale  first,  then  report  to  me 
at  theatre. — Thrall."  While  in  a  certain  paper's 
"  Stage  Gossip  "  there  appeared : 

"  The  air  of  the  Rialto  is  full  of  mystery  just  now.  There 
are  whispers  of  a  society  debutante  who  is  to  become  a  stage 
debutante.  Sometimes  she  comes  from  the  West  with  con- 
senting friends;  sometimes,  being  wealthy,  she  has  defied  the 
authority  of  lover  and  guardian  alike  and  is  openly  preparing 

ISO 


The  Forming  of  the  Chrysalis 

for  a  stage  career.  The  one  thing  that  steadies  the  wavering 
rumor  is  that  the  name  of  the  theatre  to  be  favored  by  this 
shadowy  society  actress  never  changes — that  part  of  the 
story  is  ever  the  same.  Stewart  Thrall  is  to  be  her  manager 
and  the  Globe  is  to  be  the  scene  of  her  triumph.  So  much 
for  the  on  dit  of  the  Rialto.  Perhaps  Mr.  Thrall  will  kindly 
rise  and  explain." 

And  a  more  staid  and  conservative  paper  stated: 
"  That  it  was  undoubtedly  true  that  a  young  lady  of 
birth  and  breeding,  a  member  of  one  of  New  York's 
oldest  families,  was  to  be  brought  before  the  public 
as  soon  as  the  full  consent  of  her  family  could  be  ob- 
tained, Mr.  Stewart  Thrall,  with  a  most  commendable 
sense  of  honor,  refusing  by  his  aid  to  place  the  beau- 
tiful suppliant  in  opposition  to  her  natural  guardians. 
The  lady's  name  will  only  be  given  to  the  public  when 
all  opposition  to  her  wishes  have  been  withdrawn." 

So  the  good  angel  had  whispered  his  warning  all  in 
vain ;  and  Thrall  was  already  busy  with  glue-pot  and 
paper  and  book  of  gold-leaf,  for  had  he  not  promised, 
with  the  rose-petals  that  fell  from  her  breast  held  red 
in  his  hand — had  he  not  promised  to  crown  the  ob- 
stinate, ambitious  girl  who  longed  to  be  Queen  of  that 
fair  domain,  the  Drama,  who,  while  hoping  to  win  fame 
herself,  was  "  sorry  that  he  had  missed  the  way  "  ? 
"  God  bless  her !  "  he  murmured,  "  God  bless  her !  " 
and  he  made  note  of  several  new  fables  to  give  to  the 
press  anent  the  social  debutante's  private  brougham, 
her  lovers,  her  maids ;  for  thus  is  the  chrysalis  formed 
from  which,  the  dormant  time  being  passed,  the  radiant 
butterfly  will  flutter  forth  to  gladden  the  eyes  of  those 
whose  curiosity  has  been  cleverly  aroused.  Ah,  yes! 
no  chrysalis,  no  butterfly ! 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   RETURN    FROM    THE   WEST 

It  was  October  already.  The  old  White  house  stood 
and  shivered  when  the  wind  came  sharp  from  the 
steely  river.  Lena,  making  ineffectual  war  upon  fallen 
leaves,  could  not  even  keep  the  porch  free  from  them, 
and  they  skirled  and  whirled  and  gently  slid  and  madly 
rushed,  while  in  the  house  their  movement  could  be 
distinctly  heard  like  light  pattering  footsteps,  ever 
seeking,  never  resting. 

They  even  disturbed  Lena's  nerves.  She  looked 
about  uneasily,  while  Dorothy  laughed  as  they  tied  up 
each  other's  fingers,  for  they  had  been  engaged  in 
what  Lena  called  "  veather  vending,"  and  what  Dor- 
othy called  "  battening  "  the  windows  in  her  mother's 
room.  For  there  was  no  question  about  it,  the  Law- 
tons  had  to  face  the  winter  right  where  they  were. 
So  Lena,  with  Dorothy's  help,  was  doing  her  best  to 
make  a  few  rooms  comfortable,  and  the  hammering  of 
nails  and  tacks  had  included  thumb-nails  as  well. 
But  what  of  that ;  their  "  veather  vending  "  was  turn- 
ing lots  of  cold  air  from  the  rooms,  and  there  was  a 
comforting  smell  of  freshly  baked  cookies  coming 
from  the  kitchen,  and  great  crimson  and  dappled 
branches  of  dogwood — Sybil's  favorite  autumn  leaf — 

152 


The  Return  from  the  West 

were  over  mantel  and  door,  while  dark  purple  and 
pale  grayish  lavender  asters  were  nodding  from  cor- 
ner and  vase.  For  joy!  oh,  joy!  Sybil  was  coming 
home  from  the  West — that  vague,  chaotic  place  that 
had  swallowed  her  sister,  an  outsider,  and  now  cast 
her  back  a  professional,  a  "  for-true "  actress,  with 
three  real  newspaper  notices  of  her  work,  though  they 
had  been  won  under  an  assumed  name.  Dear  Syb! 
how  proud  they  all  were !  Papa  had  split  up  a  cigar- 
box  and  made  a  little  frame  for  her  very  first  news- 
paper notice  and  had  it  hanging  in  the  corner  by  the 
window  where  he  shaved. 

And  then,  late  that  night,  poor,  pallid  Jim  Roberts 
had  handed  Sybil  out  of  the  shaky  old  hack  at  the 
White  house  door,  and,  saying  "  Good-night,"  had 
turned  to  go,  when  grateful  hands  had  drawn  him  in- 
side, to  receive  courteous  thanks  from  John  Lawton 
and  an  explanation  from  Mrs.  Lawton  as  to  her  pres- 
ent inability  to  send  a  comfortable  carriage  for  her 
daughter  and  her  escort. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Jones  was  Miss  Lawton's  escort  quite  as 
much  as  I  was !  "  stammered  Roberts.  "  I — I  only 
looked  after  the  checks  and  things,  and " 

"  And,"  said  Sybil,  "  hungry  and  tired,  came  away 
up  here  with  me  instead  of  going  straight  to  your 
supper  and  your  bed.  And,  papa,  he  had  no  overcoat 
with  him,  and  he  shivered  dreadfully  in  the  hack  after 
the  fearful  heat  of  the  car."  Whereupon  Dorothy  in- 
sisted upon  coffee  being  brought  to  him,  and  Sybil 
cried  out :  "  I  smell  fresh  cookies !  Oh,  Lena,  bring 
some  here ! "  Then,  still  in  hat  and  gloves,  she 

153 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

stood  before  him,  saying :  "  You  shall  not  miss  the 
next  train  down.  I  will  watch  the  time  for  you,  so 
please  drink  your  coffee  and  eat  your  cookies  in 
peace ! " 

"  Cookies  and  coffee ! "  moaned  Mrs.  Lawton. 
"  Barbarous  combination !  Mr.  Roberts's  dinner  will 
be  destroyed,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  his  appetite 
will  be  destroyed.  And  while  I'll  not  call  it  vulgar, 
still  there  is  something  so  very  domestic,  so  very  in- 
timate about  a  home-made  cookie,  that  personally — 
no,  my  daughter,  I  could  not  have  offered  one  to  a 
stranger !  Still  I  suppose  we  must  expect  these  touches 
of  bohemianism,  now  that  you  have  become  a  profes- 
sional actress ! " 

In  the  few  moments  that  he  sat  there,  Jim  saw  the 
poverty  surrounding  them.  He  could  not  help  notic- 
ing the  carpets  and  curtains,  worn  to  the  bone;  the 
ancient  and  honorable  furniture,  the  severity  of  the 
chairs ;  and  yet  the  Lawtons  were,  temporarily  at  least, 
unconscious  of  it  all.  They  were  caught  up  in  a  golden 
glory  of  family  love,  of  mutual  admiration,  of  ineffa- 
ble tenderness,  and  while  all  other  eyes  were  turned 
with  pride  upon  the  dear  wanderer  returned,  she,  still 
timing  him,  still  holding  the  plate  of  cookies,  with  an 
impulse  that  would  not  be  denied,  stretched  out  her 
free  arm  and  drew  her  sister  close  to  her  side,  gazing 
at  her  with  an  expression  of  love  so  protecting,  so 
maternal,  she  might  have  been  Dorrie's  elder  by  ten 
years  instead  of  two. 

"  Ah ! "  thought  Roberts,  "  you'd  be  quick  to  sus- 
pect danger  for  her,  and  you'd  be  strong  to  protect; 

J54 


The  Return  from   the  West 

but  to  your  own  peril  you'd  be  as  blind  as  a  young 
white  owl  facing  the  sun !  " 

With  almost  a  groan  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  a  move- 
ment that  wrung  a  disappointed  "  Ach !  "  from  Lena, 
who,  to  the  amusement  of  Dorothy  and  the  fuming  in- 
dignation of  Mrs.  Lawton,  had  been  eagerly  peering 
through  the  crack  of  the  door,  trying  to  get  a  good 
look  at  "  Vun  of  dem  Herr  actin'  mens,  ven  dey  vasn't 
makin'  no  believes  to  nobody,"  and  her  betraying 
"  Ach !  "  came  with  such  a  pony-like  snort  that  even 
Mr.  Lawton  had  joined  in  his  daughters'  laughter. 

Then  Sybil  stepped  close  to  Roberts  and  whispered, 
swiftly :  "  Will  you  be  vexed  if  I  ask  you  just  to  speak 
one  word  to  our  little  German  maid,  who  is  the  staff 
of  the  whole  family,  and  whose  manner  is  the  only 
bad  thing  about  her?  Ah,  you  are  good!  [What 
would  he  not  have  done  for  Sybil's  asking?]  Dorrie, 
you  call  her.  She  wouldn't  come  for  anyone  else 
now." 

"  Lena !  Lena !  "  called  Dorothy's  gay  voice.  "  Lena ! 
Quick,  please !  "  And  then,  very,  very  red  in  the  face, 
the  sturdy,  square  little  serving-woman  stood  in  the 
doorway. 

"  We  are  in  such  a  hurry,  Lena,"  said  Sybil,  "  be- 
cause Mr.  Roberts  has  to  catch  this  next  train;  but, 
as  he  is  the  gentleman  who  brought  me  safe  home 
after  helping  me  to  learn  to  act,  I  know  you  too  want 
to  thank  him." 

"  Oh,  ja !  I  doos  so !  "  answered  Lena,  heartily,  mak- 
ing her  peasant-like  bob  of  a  courtesy. 

But  Jim  Roberts  went  over  to  her,  saying,  with  a 

155 


A  Pasteboard   Crown 

laugh :  "  If  there's  any  thanking  to  be  done,  I'm  the 
one  to  do  it;  for,  Mistress  Lena,  I  haven't  tasted 
cookies  like  yours  since,  as  a  bad  boy,  I  came  home  at 
recess  to  hook  them  fresh  and  warm  from  my  mother's 
pantry.  Thank  you,  Lena !  " 

As  she  backed  smilingly  out  of  the  doorway,  Sybil 
laughed :  "  You  have  saved  her  life  by  granting  her 
a  good  look  at  that  wondrous  thing,  a  real,  sure-enough 
actor !  " 

"  Carefully  edited  and  lavishly  illustrated,  this  tale 
will  doubtless  reach  her  grandchildren,"  smiled  John 
Lawton. 

"  Oh !  "  cried  the  girls,  "  hear  papa  making  jokes !  " 

"  You  all  seem  to  forget  that  you  have  an  actress 
of  your  own  in  the  family  now  for  your  little  maid  to 
feast  her  eyes  upon,"  remarked  Roberts. 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Sybil,  flushing  beautifully,  "  not 
yet.  I  am  only  '  a  trying-to-be  actress  '  yet !  There, 
your  time's  up !  "  And  she  caught  up  his  travelling 
cap  and  tossed  it  to  him. 

"  Sybil !  "  remonstrated  Mrs.  Lawton,  "  Sybil !  a  lit- 
tle more  decorum,  even  in  the  protecting  presence 
of  your  family !  Good-night,  sir !  In  former  days 

I  should  have  sent  you  in  my  own  brougham  to 
.t.  » 

But  Mr.  Lawton  had  swept  the  actor  out  of  the 
room  to  a  chorus  of  "  Good-nights."  On  the  porch, 
he  said :  "  Mr.  Roberts,  I  have  some  clippings  from 
the  papers  about  my  little  daughter's  work.  Can  you 
tell  me,  for  I  am  very  ignorant  of  such  things,  whether 
those— er — those  notices  were  inspired,  or — you  un- 

156 


The  Return  from  the  West 

derstand  me,  were  they — er — commanded  from  the 
box-office,  or  at — er — a  manager's  suggestion,  or  were 
they  unsought  by  anyone?"  The  old  gentleman's 
voice  trembled  with  eagerness  and  anxiety. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  replied  Roberts,  "  what  may  happen 
in  that  line  in  the  future  I  dare  not  say,  but  as  to  the 
past,  nothing  was  inspired.  Those  notices  commend- 
ing Miss  Lawton's  work  were  honestly  earned,  for  she 
has  natural  gifts,  neither  is  she  afraid  of  work,  and 
does  not  resent  criticism — as  yet." 

Mr.  Lawton  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  gratefully. 
"  Thank  you ! "  he  said,  "  thank  you,  for  your  good- 
ness to  my  Sybil !  " 

Roberts  flung  himself  into  the  old  hack,  muttering, 
as  he  slammed  the  door :  "  Hear  him !  Just  hear 
him !  "  He  burst  into  a  laugh  that  ended  in  a  groan. 
"  Oh !  "  he  continued,  "  I  wonder  if  God,  in  some 
mighty  shuffle  of  His  worlds.,  has  dropped  this  one  out 
of  His  hands  entirely!  For  surely  nothing  higher, 
nothing  wiser  than  blind  fate  or  a  malicious  devil  can 
be  guiding  the  affairs  of  man !  " 

He  threw  off  his  cap  and  held  his  head  hard  be- 
tween his  bony,  long  hands,  and  broke  out  again: 
"  That  gentle,  helpless  old  fool,  with  his  unmistakably 
aristocratic  elbows  nearly  out  of  his  sleeves,  is  the 
natural  protector  of  two  lovely  daughters!  How  the 
devil  will  laugh  when  he  takes  note  of  the  situation! 
If  so  weak  a  creature  was  to  be  trusted  with  daughters 
at  all,  they  should  for  their  own  sakes  have  been  plain 
girls,  whose  homeliness  would  have  acted  as  a  pro- 
hibitory tariff  on  folly  of  any  kind!  Again,  the  cir- 

157 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

cling  arms  of  some  mothers  would  be  as  towers  of 
strength  for  the  guarding  of  innocent  beauty ;  but  not 
this  mother — this  elegant  '  has  been,'  who  twists  her 
memories  of  past  wealth  and  power  into  thongs  to  lash 
her  friends  and  family  with!  And,  by  Jove,  the  old 
rattle  can  carry  herself  well !  She's  been  a  fine-looking 
woman  in  her  day — a  fact  she  will  never  forget  in  this 
world,  probably  not  in  the  next !  But  selfish  ?  Lord ! 
I'll  bet  her  time  is  principally  given  to  pulling  out  for 
her  own  use  any  plum  of  comfort  to  be  found  in  their 
economical  family  pie!  But  they  see  nothing  amiss! 
It's  '  this  chair  for  mamma ! '  One  places  a  stool  for 
her  feet,  and  another  brings  a  cushion  for  her  back, 
and  papa  throws  a  scarf  about  her  shoulders  and  low- 
ers the  light  to  suit  her  eyes ;  and  when  they  have  all 
made  her  quite  comfortable,  she  rewards  them  with 
sighs  and  moans  and  talcs  of  her  former  glory.  But 
for  family  love  commend  me  to  this  Lawton  set.  I 
never  saw  anything  so  beautiful  in  my  life  as  the  pal- 
pitating pride  of  that  old  gentleman  in  his  daughters 
and  their  protecting  love  for  him!  And  there  it  is. 
The  natural  position  of  father  and  child  is  reversed, 
and  that  lovely  creature,  Sybil,  with  father  and  mother 
both  living,  is  as  absolutely  unprotected  as  any  orphan 
on  earth !  Lord !  How  I  wish  I  had  a  drink  of  whis- 
key! My  nerves  will  jump  clear  through  my  skin  be- 
fore I  get  to  the  city !  I  wonder  what  Stewart  would 
say  if  he  knew  I'd  been  travelling  without  a  flask? 
Wouldn't  believe  it,  I  suppose.  Gad !  I've  had  heaven 
and  hell  pretty  thoroughly  well  mixed  together  these 
last  few  weeks.  Thrall  gave  me  a  bit  of  heaven  when 

158 


The  Return  from  the  West 

he  sent  me  to  act  as  sheep-dog  for  this  girl,  and  I 
ordered  up  a  portion  from  the  other  place  when  I 
doomed  myself  to  sobriety,  out  of  consideration  for 
her  trust  in  me!  Not  a  drop  of  anything  to  be  had 
either  at  this  infernal,  suicidal  station,  and  I've  had 
nothing  since  Albany!  Well,  I  must  grin  and  bear 
it !  I  wish  I  hadn't  to  see  Thrall  to-night,  and  yet  I 
want  to  know  just  what  he's  up  to.  Of  course  I'm 
dead  sure  he's  going  to  coach  this  ambitious  child  for 
Juliet,  but  maybe  he'll  pass  her  over  to  old  mother 
Mordaunt.  She's  clever  and  knows  her  business. 
Perhaps,  too,  he  means  to  put  young  Fitzallen  up  for 
Romeo,  and  play  Mercutio  himself?  May  be!  Ah, 
bah !  May-bees  don't  fly  at  this  time  of  year.  I'd  bet 
my  bottom  dollar — a  coin  always  within  easy  reach — 
that  he  will  coach  her  himself — yes,  and  play  Romeo, 
too!  But  as  I  live  by  bread,  Stewart,  my  boy,  there 
must  be  no  Bessie  in  this  case,  or  something  will  hap- 
pen— something  that  would  have  happened  five  years 
ago  had  I  not  been  as  completely  under  the  spell  of 
your  fascination  as  ever  she  was,  poor  little  maid! 
Hello,  here  we  are,  and  the  train  coming,  thank  the 
Lord!" 

Roberts  hurried  through  the  little  waiting-room, 
past  the  small  office,  from  which  came  the  curt,  short 
"  tick-tick  tack "  that  is  as  the  voice  of  the  ever- 
imperative  telegraph  wire,  crossed  the  open  space,  trip- 
ping over  the  line  of  rails  in  the  darkness,  clambered 
up  the  steps,  and  entered  the  purgatorial  heat  of  the 
car,  made  nauseating  by  the  odor  of  banana  and  stale 
orange-peel,  and  dropped  into  a  seat  by  the  side  of  a 

159 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

sleeping  man,  only  to  spring  up  again  when  suddenly 
aware  that  he  had  sat  upon  a  bottle. 

The  movement  aroused  the  sleeper,  who,  with  his 
hat  on  the  back  of  his  head  and  a  lock  of  hair  clinging 
damply  to  his  forehead,  muttered  apologies  as  he 
gathered  up  his  overcoat  out  of  the  way.  Having  felt 
carefully  in  one  of  its  outer  pockets,  he  turned  to  Rob- 
erts with  that  loose  smile  of  world-embracing  geniality 
peculiar  to  the  good-natured  man  who  is  "  three  sheets 
in  the  wind,"  and  thickly  remarked :  "  I's  all  right ! 
Best  kind  of  glass !  I've  sat  on  that  flask  dozen  times 
myself  'nd  never  cracked  it ! "  His  head  wobbled  a 
moment,  then  he  added,  confidentially :  "  Soon's  I  can 
think — w-where  in  thunder  I  put  cup — w-we'll  have  a 
drink  together — like  little  men,  eh?  Why  h-here  it  is, 
r-right  in  other  pocket !  Been  a  b-bear  it  might  'a'  tore 
my  g-gizzard  out !  Join  me  ?  " 

Jim  Roberts  glanced  a  moment  down  the  brilliantly 
lighted,  well-filled  car,  then  clenched  his  hands  and, 
drawing  a  long,  almost  sobbing  breath — declined. 

"  W-what's — w-what's  reason  you  won't  join  me  ?  " 
demanded  the  stranger,  indignantly,  yet  showing  at  the 
same  time  a  disposition  to  weep.  "  W-what  have  I 
done — say,  now,  w-what  have  I  done?  Slept  with  my 
m-mouth  open,  I  s'pose?  Slept  out  loud,  too — very 
likely?  But  w-what  of  that?  It  isn't  pretty,  of 
course — but's  no  crime — eh  ?  "  He  brought  forth  the 
metal  cup  and  carefully  wiped  it  out  with  a  stubby 
forefinger,  while  he  tearfully  added  that  "  the  very 
dogs  in  the  streets  'd  bark  at  him  when  they  knew  a 
gentleman  had  refused  to  drink  with  him !  " 

160 


The  Return  from  the  West 

And  Roberts,  with  set  jaws  and  feet  twisting  to- 
gether, tried  to  control  the  leaping  muscles  and  nerves 
that  seemed  to  be  crying  out  with  a  thousand  gasping 
mouths  for  liquor!  liquor!  The  tears  of  self-inflicted 
disappointment  were  stinging  beneath  his  lids  when 
there  came  to  his  ears,  with  infernal  power  to  charm, 
the  delicious  "  blub-blub-blub "  of  whiskey  poured 
from  a  full  bottle.  He  gave  a  gasp.  In  an  instant  his 
left  hand  held  his  hat  before  his  face,  his  right  hand 
grasped  the  cup  and  poured  the  contents  straight  and 
raw  down  his  aching  throat.  The  drink  was  followed 
by  that  convulsive  shudder,  so  familiar  to  most  drunk- 
ards. Heart  shock  someone  has  called  it;  but  almost 
before  he  had  returned  the  cup  to  its  rejoicing  owner 
a  delicious  warmth  and  comfort  was  stealing  over 
him,  a  sense  of  well-being  made  him  tolerant  even  of 
the  disjointed  conversation  of  his  chance  acquaint- 
ance. 

He  reported  presently  at  the  private  office  of  Man- 
ager Thrall,  who  received  him  eagerly  and  greeted  him 
with  unusual  heartiness.  The  interview  was  long  and 
confidential — very.  When  Jim  Roberts  finally  reached 
his  own  room  he  had  been  drinking  heavily  and  had 
been  tramping  the  streets  for  hours.  He  was  at  his 
very  worst.  Flinging  off  only  his  hat  and  coat,  he 
cast  himself  across  the  bed,  and  rolling  his  head  face 
downward  on  his  folded  arms,  he  groaned :  "  I  can't 
do  anything !  I'm  less  than  a  fly  on  the  wheel !  He's 
all  right  now — he  means  well — he  honestly  does !  But, 
oh !  good  God !  don't  I  know  the  man  better  than  he 

161 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

knows  himself!  Don't  I  know  that  Stewart  Thrall  is 
never  more  dangerous  than  when  he  means  well  ?  " 
and  the  poor  wretch  lay  there  and  grovelled  in  help- 
less, drunken  misery. 


162 


CHAPTER  XV 

MRS.    LAWTON    LAYS   PLANS 

Before  Sybil's  trunks  had  been  opened  and  her  sim- 
ple little  home-coming  gifts  distributed,  she  knew  that 
her  sister,  the  patient,  cheerful  Dorothy,  was  being 
seriously  worried  by  somebody  or  something,  and  she 
had  not  sat  at  the  family  table  three  times  before  she 
saw  that  her  mother  waged  a  secret,  petty  warfare 
against  the  young  girl,  who  was  really  the  mainspring 
that  kept  the  whole  family  machinery  in  clock-work 
motion. 

They  had  been  so  wholly  united  in  their  home-life 
that  this  surreptitious  nagging,  these  swift  side-glances 
that  made  sure  John  Lawton  was  out  of  ear-shot  be- 
fore the  jeer  or  sneer  or  wounding  innuendo  was  de- 
livered, filled  Sybil  with  amazement  as  well  as  hot 
anger. 

"  Poor  little  Dorrie !  "  she  thought ;  "  denied  every 
pleasure  that  a  young,  healthy,  pretty  girl  longs  for! 
Skimping  and  saving,  turning  and  cleaning  and  press- 
ing, rarely  going  out  dressed  entirely  in  her  own  gar- 
ments, never  complaining,  always  smilingly  wink- 
ing back  threatening  tears,  smoothing  rough  places, 
straightening  out  the  tangles  for  others,  and  when  the 
burden  becomes  too  heavy,  the  cloud  of  small  torments 

163 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

unendurable,  instead  of  bursting  into  bitter  railing  or 
furious  tears  as  I  do,  Dorrie,  with  the  absolute,  un- 
questioning faith  of  a  child,  goes  to  her  room  and 
prays,  asking  that  her  burden  be  made  lighter,  or,  if 
that  may  not  be,  that  the  blessed  Lord  will  give  her 
strength  and  patience  and  please  make  her  understand 
what  it  is  wisest  for  her  to  do  in  that  special  emer- 
gency !  Poor  little  trusting  ninny !  As  though  God 
could  trouble  about  her  infinitesimal  affairs !  As 
though  He  would  distinguish  her  faint  appeal  when 
once  it  had  fluttered  upward  and  been  caught  in  that 
mighty  whirlwind  of  a  world's  anguished  prayer  that, 
with  a  thousand  times  Niagara's  sound,  goes  thunder- 
ing to  the  Throne !  Dear  Dorrie !  Such  a  patient  lit- 
tle slave  as  she  is  to  mamma,  too !  But  I'll  take  a  few 
hours  from  work  and  find  out  what  is  going  on  here — 
yes,  even  if  I  have  to  question  Lena ! " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  An  indecorous  and  undigni- 
fied proceeding  that,  but  what  else  can  I  do?  Poor 
papa  never  sees  an  inch  beyond  his  handsome  old  nose ! 
If  it  concerned  anyone  but  mamma,  Dorothy  would  tell 
me  everything  herself,  for  we  have  confided  in  each 
other  ever  since  we  had  to  '  make  up '  the  secrets  we 
shared.  But  she  and  papa  always  make  a  sort  of  fetish 
of  mamma.  It's  strange,  too,"  said  Sybil  to  herself, 
"  for  mamma  was  very  little  to  either  of  us,  indeed, 
in  the  old  days  of  luxury.  As  that  English  housemaid 
once  said  of  us,  '  we  were  little  better  nor  horphans  for 
all  our  finery  and  our  sweets ! '  Mamma  was  always 
out,  or  going  out,  or  just  getting  ready  to  go  out.  Or 
there  were  people  staying  with  her,  and  we  had  to 

164 


Mrs.   Lawton  Lays  Plans 

keep  close  to  the  nursery.  We  should  just  have  been 
servant-bred  but  for  papa.  Shall  I  ever  forget  his 
face  the  day  he  asked  Dorrie  some  question,  which  she 
answered  with  a  hearty,  '  Bedad !  I  have  then ! '  After 
he  had  read  us  a  lecture  on  the  subject  of  English  as 
it  should  be  used  by  intelligent  and  obedient  little  girls, 
Dorothy  lifted  her  repentant,  small  countenance  to  be 
kissed,  saying,  '  Please  forgive  me,  papa ! '  and  he 
caught  her  up  in  his  arms  and  said,  '  Oh,  baby  girl,  it 
is  for  you  to  forgive  us — forgive  us ! '  And  when 
he  was  gone  we  talked  and  talked,  and  finally  con- 
cluded that  '  us '  meant  papa  and  Delia,  because 
she  was  all  the  time  saying  '  bedad  '  and  '  bad-cess/ 
and  such  words.  That  same  night  I  heard  mamma's 
voice,  high  and  excited,  from  her  dressing-room.  She 
was  saying,  '  I  really  do  not  see  why  I  am  to  be  held 
responsible  for  the  aimless  chatter  of  children  of  that 
age.  Of  course,  when  they  are  older,  and  it's  worth 
while,  I  shall  impress  myself  upon  them — shall  take 
complete  charge  of — what?  my  mother?  Never  mind 
my  mother!  Times  are  changed,  and  really  it's  more 
than  a  trifle  presumptuous  for  any  Lawton  to  attempt 
to  teach  a  Bassett  how  to — '  and  the  voice  became  in- 
audible, because  mamma  had  entered  her  sleeping- 
room  and  closed  the  door.  But  next  day  we  took  our 
drive  with  her,  instead  of  the  nurse  or  maid,  and  in 
our  big  feathered  hats — I  in  pink  and  Dorrie  in  blue — 
we  sat  one  on  each  side  of  her  and  swung  our  slim, 
black-silk  legs  against  her  skirts  and  wished  papa  was 
there.  And  that  very  day  she  cut  Mr.  Bulkley  dead 
as  he  saluted  her  in  passing,  and  said,  under  her 

165 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

breath,  '  Horrid  wretch ! '  Horrid  wretch  then !  And 
now  ?  She  can't  be  too  cordial  to  him,  actually  press- 
ing him  to  come  again.  Has  she  no  eyes  ?  Can't  she 
see  how  he  stares  poor  Dorrie  out  of  countenance,  and 
how— how— "  Suddenly  the  girl  started.  "Why," 
she  said,  "  it  can't  be !  Oh,  it  can't  be  that  she  does 
see  and  understand  and — and — still  welcomes  him — 
that  she  is  tormenting  my  little  sister  about  him?" 

A  certain  ominous  tremble  of  the  ceiling  told  of  the 
energetic  Lena's  presence  in  the  room  above.  Sybil 
flew  up  the  stairs,  went  first  to  her  trunk,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  came  to  Lena,  holding  in  her  hand  a  spray 
of  artificial  flowers,  and  saying :  "  If  you  will  bring 
me  your  hat  I'll  freshen  it  up  with  these  velvet  roses. 
I  can  do  it  right  here  while  you  are  finishing  mamma's 
room."  With  a  cry  of  rapture  the  little,  squa,re-rigged 
German  girl  dropped  the  pillow  she  was  holding  be- 
tween her  teeth,  while  trying  to  introduce  its  further 
end  into  a  fresh  cover,  and  rushed  from  the  room,  to 
return  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  with  one  of  those 
forlornly  tawdry  hats,  peculiar  to  the  foreign  servant. 
They  always  seemed  to  be  trimmed  with  samples, 
boasting  a  pale  spring  blossom  twisted  with  a  dahlia 
or  a  few  hips  and  haws  of  autumnal  tinting,  a  bit  of 
feather,  always  straight ;  a  bit  of  lace,  always  cotton ; 
a  scrap  of  velvet,  always  dusty — the  whole  incongruity 
invariably  suggesting  the  police  station,  no  matter  how 
respectable  the  wearer  of  the  "  mussy  "  confection  may 
be.  For  a  moment  Lena  looked  frightened  as  Sybil's 
long  fingers  swiftly  tore  the  rubbish  apart;  but  a 
glance  at  the  deep  rich  glow  of  color  in  the  crushed 

166 


Mrs.   Lawton  Lays  Plans 

velvet  rose  with  the  trail  of  bronzy-green  leaves  re- 
assured her,  and  she  smiled  the  whole  breadth  of  her 
honest  moon-face  as  she  exclaimed : 

"  Mein  Gott !  my  Miss  Lady !  Dot  mash-man  will 
sure  make  me  of  der  name  of  Miss  Klippert,  ven  I 
make  der  Sunday  valk,  mit  der  roses  on,  youst  like  I 
com'  by  America !  Ja !  dot  is  too  fine  youst  for  Lena — 
all  short !  Dot  make  of  me  Miss  Klippert — sure !  you 
see  now !  "  And  full  of  excitement  and  happy  antici- 
pations, Lena  rose  like  a  hungry  trout  to  Sybil's  first 
cast,  which  was  the  remark :  "  I  don't  think  Miss  Dor- 
othy is  looking  quite  well  ?  " 

In  her  broken  English  the  maid  poured  out  the  story 
of  the  trials  and  persecutions  to  which  Dorothy  had 
been  subjected ;  of  how  her  mother's  selfishness  in  her 
imaginary  illness  had  taxed  the  girl's  strength ;  of  how 
Leslie  Gait  had  tried  unsuccessfully  to  take  Miss  Dorrie 
for  a  drive,  to  bring  the  color  back  to  her  cheeks ;  of 
how  Mrs.  Lawton  had  changed  her  mind  about  the 
proprieties  when  Mr.  Bulkley  had  driven  up  to  the 
house  with  a  similar  object ;  and  of  a  disgraceful  scene 
at  a  near-by  resort  in  which  Mr.  Bulkley  and  several 
"  painted  ladies  "  figured — a  scene  of  which  she  and 
her  "  mash-man  "  were  the  witnesses. 

The  pitiful  story  finished,  Sybil,  controlling  her  feel- 
ings, went  to  the  troubled  Lena,  set  the  newly  trimmed 
hat  on  her  head,  gave  her  a  little  push  toward  the  glass, 
and  then  fled  to  her  own  room,  where,  with  blazing 
eyes  and  flushed  cheeks,  she  paced  the  floor,  repeat- 
ing, over  and  over :  "  How  dare  he  ?  How  dare  he 
force  his  attentions  upon  an  innocent  young  girl  ?  He 

167 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

is  as  vulgar  as  he  is  wicked !  His  conduct  is  unpar- 
donable— disgraceful !  Oh,  what  can  I  do  ?  How  can 
I  shield  Dorrie,  and  where  is  Leslie  Gait?  I  know  he 
loves  her,  devotedly,  but  he  can't  have  spoken  yet,  for 
she  would  have  shared  the  secret  with  me  within  an 
hour  of  my  coming!  He's  not  a  man  to  change,  nor 
yet  to  hesitate  without  grave  cause.  Oh,  I  suppose  it's 
poverty  that  commands  his  silence — poverty,  fruitful 
mother  of  many  miseries,  of  shame  and  humiliation! 
And  yet — and  yet,"  frowned  Sybil,  as  she  called  up  a 
mental  picture  of  Leslie  Gait,  "  he  never  looks  like  a 
poor  man;  and  surely  I  ought  to  recognize  any  or  all 
of  the  symptoms  of  indigence,  know  all  the  dear  little 
earmarks  made  by  straitened  circumstances.  And 
now  that  I  think  of  it,  his  dress  is  perfect  in  its  way, 
quiet,  oh,  yes,  quiet  enough,  but  such  perfect  cut  and 
fit  can  scarcely  belong  to  ready-made  '  marked- 
downs.'  " 

And  when  had  she  ever  seen  spot  or  soil  or  sagging 
pocket,  loose  button,  frayed  binding,  or  faded  tie? 
Her  mother  had  called  him  "  a  salaried  boy,"  but  she 
recalled  Lena's  statement  that  he  wished  to  take  her 
sister  to  drive.  She  knew  he  often  rode  a  horse,  hired 
in  Yonkers.  He  lavished  gifts  of  fruit  upon  Mrs. 
Lawton  and  music  and  books  and  flowers  on  Dorrie. 
Surely,  she  thought,  a  young  lawyer  must  receive  a 
good  salary  to  do  all  that  and  dress  so  well.  She  won- 
dered if  she  ought  to  make  him  understand  Dorothy's 
position.  Even  if  they  were  only  engaged,  that  en- 
gagement would  protect  the  young  fiancee  from  the 
detested  approaches  of  another  man.  Papa?  Ah! 

168 


Mrs.   Law  ton  Lays  Plans 

poor  dear  papa  had  no  authority  where  mamma  was 
concerned!  What  should  she  do?  Then  suddenly 
she  began  to  dress  for  the  street.  She  decided  that  she 
would  go  to  her  godmother  with  her  trouble.  She 
had  always  been  fond  of  Dorothy,  and  if  Mrs.  Lawton 
feared  any  adverse  opinion  it  was  that  of  Mrs.  Van 
Camp. 

As  she  hurried  down-stairs,  hoping,  by  fast  walking 
to  the  station,  to  catch  the  next  train  cityward,  Mrs. 
Lawton  came  into  the  hall,  to  express  shocked  disap- 
proval of  her  daughter's  action  and  her  sorrow  at  not 
having  more  fully  impressed  herself  upon  that  daugh- 
ter's mind  and  character,  in  which  case  she  could  have 
seen  for  herself  the  horrible  impropriety  of  going  to 
the  city  unaccompanied ;  in  fact,  to  be  perfectly  explicit 
and  exact,  'er  alone!  And  Sybil,  as  she  rapidly  but- 
toned her  gloves,  replied  with  the  humble  deference  of 
tone,  which  usually  cloaked  her  worst  impertinences: 
"  Yes,  mamma  dear,  undoubtedly  the  girl  who  can  buy 
tickets  for  two  and  pay  the  salary  of  a  chaperon  who 
watches  her,  is  guilty  of  a  criminal  impropriety  in  trav- 
elling alone.  You  see  the  point,  don't  you,  dear 
mamma?  Without  wealth  there  is  no  impropriety. 
Of  course  that's  unfair,  but  the  fact  remains  that  a  poor 
girl  may  r|de  for  an  hour  in  a  public  car  $n  broad  day- 
light, and  not  onty  retain  her  self-respect,  but  fail  to 
hear  a  single  charge  of  impropriety.  Of  course  it's, 
hard,  but  since  we  have  fallen  upon  poverty,  we  must 
not  lay  claim  to  the  attributes  of  the  wealthy.  Good-, 
by,  dear  mamma !  Tell  Dorrie  and  papa  I  shall  prob- 
a,t)ly  have  to  see  the  costumer  to-morrow,  if  Mr.  Thrall 

169 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

can  spare  the  time  to  accompany  me,  and  decide  upon 
correct  designs ;  but  I  shall  be  home  in  time  for  tea — 
D.  V. — I  mean  of  course." 

As  she  flew  down  the  steep  driveway  leading  to  the 
street,  Mrs.  Lawton,  looking  after  her,  said,  aloud: 
"  Dear  me !  With  Sybil  assuming  this  freedom  of 
action  and  Dorothy  developing  a  streak  of  real  ob- 
stinacy, I  have  to  ask  myself  why  I  ever  assumed  the 
responsibility  of  bringing  daughters  into  the  world. 
Sons  would  doubtless  have  been  far  more  satisfactory, 
particularly  under  the  present  unfortunate  circum- 
stances !  "  And  she  returned  to  her  rocker,  her  smell- 
ing-bottle, and  her  French  novel,  shaking  her  head  and 
sighing  portentously. 


170 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A   STRANGE   BETROTHAL 

Nothing-  of  Dorothy's  doing  in  all  her  young  life 
had  so  exasperated  Mrs.  Lawton  as  her  refusal  to  drive 
out  with  William  Henry  Bulkley.  How,  she  asked 
herself,  could  a  child  of  hers  be  so  stupidly  content  in 
poverty  and  obscurity,  when,  by  a  little  self-sacrifice, 
she  could  acquire  wealth ;  then  with  beauty  and  wealth 
combined  with  the  Bassett-Lawton  finesse  she  could 
attain  position  and  exist  socially.  With  the  slightest 
sense  of  her  own  value  and  an  adroit  touch  of  coquetry 
now  and  then,  she  could  simply  twist  Mr.  Bulkley  about 
her  little  finger. 

"  Of  course  he  is  a  bit  old  for  her,  indeed,"  admitted 
Mrs.  Lawton  to  herself.  "  He  is  a  trifle  older  than 
her  father,  but — but — love  for  me,  a  tender  desire  for 
my  welfare,  should  outweigh  that  objection  ;  and  I  have 
tried  hard  to  make  her  understand  that  my  worldly 
salvation  depends  wholly  upon  her  conduct.  And  yet 
the  stupid  creature  receives  the  rich  man  who  has  cast 
her  his  handkerchief  with  frightened  silence  or  with 
prim  monosyllables!  I — I  could  shake  her!  In  my 
days  of  affluence  and  power,  I  always  raised  my  voice 
against  corporal  punishment  for  children ;  but  live 
and  learn,  live  and  learn !  I  know  now  I  was  in  error, 

'7* 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

for  the  other  day  when  she  hid  herself  to  avoid  going 
to  drive  with  William  Henry  Bulkley  nothing  would 
have  given  me  more  unalloyed  pleasure  than  to  have 
soundly  trounced  Miss  Dorothy  Lawton,  my  own 
youngest  born  daughter!  If  he  only  had  an  oppor- 
tunity, no  doubt  Mr.  Bulkley  would  flatter  her  vanity, 
arouse  her  ambition ;  but  if  he  has  no  chance  even  to 
make  splendid  promises  to  her — well,  he  shall  have  a 
chance !  She  shall  go  out  for  a  drive  with  him !  Sim- 
pleton !  She  might  herself  have  been  driving  a  pair 
of  dear  little  ponies  this  month  past  but  for  John  Law- 
ton's  stiff-necked  refusal  to  permit  her  to  accept  them. 
He's  always  ready  to  join  hands  with  the  girls  in  any 
sentimental  folly.  But  I  have  a  plan  in  my  mind.  The 
bird  that  can  sing,  but  won't  sing,  my  dear,  must  be 
made  to  sing!  So  next  time  Mr.  Bulkley  drives  out 
here  you  will  accept  the  seat  beside  him  for  at  least  a 
short  drive,  or  I  am  not  Letitia  Lawton  and  your 
mother,  Miss !  " 

While  she  was  brooding  over  her  plans  in  the  sitting- 
room,  Dorothy  and  Lena  were  busy  in  the  kitchen, 
which  was  filled  with  the  pleasant  odor  of  baking  bread. 
A  large  bottle  of  Lena's  providing  had  been  carefully 
covered  with  white  flannel,  and  around  and  around  it 
Dorothy  was  smoothly  winding  and  basting  down  a  bit 
of  good  old  lace  that  was  soiled  beyond  all  using,  and, 
as  there  was  no  money  to  spare  for  its  renovation,  she 
was  taking  this  slow  and  tiresome  way  of  cleaning  it 
herself. 

Lena,  always  delighted  to  do  something  for  her  fa- 
vorite Miss  Lady,  was  shaving  some  white  soap  up, 

172 


A  Strange  Betrothal 

ready  for  melting  in  a  kettle  of  boiling  water,  and  was 
earnestly  assuring  Miss  Dorothy  that  she  would  "  get 
uf  der  hands  scalded,  uf  she  attempted  to  do  dose  jobs ! 
Youst  tell  me,  my  Miss,"  she  begged,  "  und  I  vill  boil 
de  bottle,  or  younce  him  up  und  down,  or  twist  him 
round  or  vat  you  vant  every  hows,  only  don'  you  get 
of  der  hands  scalted." 

And  just  then,  around  at  the  front  of  the  house, 
William  Henry  Bulkley  drove  to  the  door.  Mrs.  Law- 
ton  heard  the  approaching  horse  dashing  through  the 
sea  of  fallen  leaves,  and,  springing  from  her  chair,  she 
hurried  to  the  hall,  opened  the  door  a  crack,  and,  with 
finger  on  lip,  whispering :  "  Don't  ring !  wait  a  mo- 
ment !  "  she  closed  it  again  upon  the  wondering  visitor, 
who,  nevertheless,  obeyed,  and  stood  there  waiting. 

Mrs.  Lawton,  with  astonishing  speed,  ascended  the 
stairs,  entered  her  room,  and  taking  a  bottle  from  her 
dressing-table  containing  a  mixture  known  to  the 
whole  family  as  "  Mamma's  drops,"  she  swiftly 
poured  the  contents  from  the  window,  corked  the  bot- 
tle, and  returned  it  empty  to  its  place.  She  then  seized 
a  handkerchief,  shook  a  few  drops  of  camphor  upon 
it,  and,  tying  it  about  her  head  as  she  moved,  hurried 
lightly  on  tiptoe  down-stairs,  and,  opening  the  door 
again,  whispering  to  Mr.  Bulkley  "  Ring  now ! "  she 
slipped  into  the  sitting-room,  and  became  instantly  a 
stricken  sufferer  from  violent  sick  headache. 

As  the  bell  jangled  loudly  in  the  kitchen  it  startled 
both  occupants. 

Lena  made  an  exclamation,  and  Dorothy,  starting 
out  with :  "  Why,  surely,  it's  too  early  for ," 

173 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

stopped  and  flushed  consciously,  for  she  had  that 
morning  received  a  wee  bit  of  a  note  from  Leslie  Gait, 
saying  that  he  would  be  returning  from  the  office  earlier 
than  usual  that  day  and  asking  her  permission  to  call, 
that  he  might  speak  to  her  on  a  very  important  sub- 
ject— "  a  subject  the  enclosed  might  faintly  hint  at." 
And  the  enclosed  being  a  violet,  had  "  hinted "  so 
sweetly  that  a  sort  of  blissful  misery  of  anticipation 
had  been  thrilling  her  nerves  and  flushing  and  paling 
her  cheeks  all  the  day.  Now,  as  Lena  left  the  kitchen, 
she  glanced  into  the  bit  of  broken  looking-glass  the  lit- 
tle German  maid  had  tacked  on  the  wall  for  guidance 
in  her  own  Sunday  prinking,  and,  with  tremulous 
fingers,  was  training  the  fluffy  curls  on  her  brow  in 
the  way  they  should  go,  when  Lena  returned  with  the 
heavy  dragoon's  men  stride  that  anger  always  en- 
gendered in  her,  announcing,  sullenly :  "  It's  dot  Herr 
Bergamots  man,  miss  " — a  name  she  had  given  Mr. 
Bulkley  on  account  of  the  perfumes  he  used  so  lav- 
ishly— "  und  smellin'  like  a  whole  drug-store  turned 
outside  der  door !  " 

"  Oh ! "  gasped  poor  Dorothy  in  dismay,  for  she  in- 
stantly realized  that  if  his  ponderous  loitering  was  as 
long  as  usual  poor  Leslie  Gait  would  find  no  oppor- 
tunity to  discuss  that  important  subject  with  her  that 
day.  With  a  fallen  countenance  she  was  turning 
toward  the  door,  when  Lena  added :  "  Und  miss,  der 
Mistress  Mudder,  she  say  you  shall  first  com'  quick 
right  away  by  her,  in  der  sittin'-rooms,  where  she 
make  almost  to  die  by  der  sick  stomach  head !  " 

"  What !  "    exclaimed    Dorothy,    "  mamma    sick — 

174 


A   Strange  Betrothal 

why,  since  when  ?  "  Then  anxiously :  "  Had  she  not  her 
lunch  and  tea  as  usual,  Lena  ?  " 

"  Ja !  she  had,  und  she  eat  like  a  soldier !  "  scorn- 
fully asserted  that  handmaiden.  "Und  den  sit  mit 
der  feet  on  der  cushions  und  der  plate  full  of  der  Herr 
Gait's  grapes  on  der  knee,  und  eat  und  tell  me,  vile  I 
clear  der  tray  avay,  how  hard  is  der  life  by  her  now ! 
Und  how  hard  for  her  to  have  der  children  mit  un- 
grateful teeth  not  so  sharp  as  der  serpents !  Und  now 
she  com'  all  tied  up  by  der  head  und  all  crazy  like  by 
der  pains,  und  vant  you  quick  pefore  even  you  go  to 
der  parlor  to  see  der  Herr  Bulkley !  " 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Dorothy,  "  get  a  glass  and  spoon 
quick,  for  mamma  will  want  her  '  drops  '  the  very  first 
thing!" 

As  she  hurried  to  the  sitting-room  she  wondered 
why  on  earth  her  mother  had  not  called  or  rang  the 
bell,  as  was  her  custom  when  she  was  not  feeling  well. 
Entering  the  room  she  asked :  "  What  can  I  do  for  you, 
mamma,  and  what  has  made  you  ill  so  suddenly  ?  " 

"  Anxiety  for  the  future  of  my  family  and  the  un- 
happiness  of  being  a  disobeyed,  unloved  mother  has 
made  me  ill !  "  answered  the  sufferer.  "  I  am  of  a  very 
sensitive  and  delicate  temperament;  I  have  borne  the 
neglect  of  the  world  in  patience;  I  have  suffered  for 
the  ordinary  comforts  of  life  without  a  murmur." 

"  Oh,  mamma !  "  deprecatingly  interjected  Dorothy. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  miss !  "  snapped  Mrs.  Lawton. 
"  You  know,  as  well  as  I  do,  I  have  not  had  a  silk 
stocking  to  my  leg  for  years,  and  I  have  borne  it  all, 
and  lived  on,  some  way !  But  when  my  own  flesh  and 

175 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

blood  flout  me,  and  coldly  deny  me  a  little  comfort  for 
my  last  days,  my  courage  breaks,  and  sickness  super- 
venes— 'er — 'er,  perhaps  I  mean  intervenes.  I — 'er — 
'er,  well,  anyway — oh,  dear  heaven !  help  me,  someone ! 
My  drops !  my  drops !  "  She  rolled  her  head  fran- 
tically about  and  called  louder  and  louder  for  "  drops." 

Dorothy  ran  out,  but,  Mr.  Bulkley  stopping  her  in 
the  hall,  she  took  glass  and  spoon  from  Lena,  and  told 
her  to  run  upstairs  for  mamma's  drops-bottle  (Mrs. 
Lawton  smiled  as  she  heard),  and  then  explained  that 
a  sudden  headache  had  attacked  her  mother,  but  her 
drops  would  relieve  her  and  produce  sleep. 

"  Hum !  Opium,  I  should  think !  "  remarked  Mr. 
Bulkley. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not ! "  said  Dorothy,  and  held  out  her 
hand  for  the  bottle  Lena  had  brought,  and  lo!  it  was 
empty. 

"  Did  you  spill  it  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  frightened  voice. 

"  Nein  !  I  huf  not  spilled  nottings,  my  Miss  Lady !  " 
said  Lena,  shortly.  "  Und  my  bread  com'  burn  uf  I 
don't  go  back  by  der  kitchen !  " 

"  O — o — h !  o — o — h !  "  groaned  Mrs.  Lawton. 
"  Where  are  my  drops  ?  What's  that  ?  All  gone  ?  Not 
even  one  dose  ?  Well,  I  shall  die  without  it !  I  simply 
can't  bear  this  pain !  " 

She  shot  a  meaning  glance  at  Mr.  Bulkley,  who 
caught  the  cue,  and  exclaimed :  "  My  poor  dear  friend ! 
If  this  remedy  can  be  had  at  Yonkers,  and  Miss  Doro- 
thy will  direct  me,  I  will  go  at  once  and  procure  these 
precious  drops !  " 

A  distressed,  a  harried  look  came  into  the  girl's  face. 
176 


A  Strange  Betrothal 

"  Mamma,"  she  said,  "  Sybil  will  go  and  I'll  stay  by 
you." 

"  Sybil's  in  New  York  by  this  time ! "  answered 
Mrs.  Lawton.  "  I  have  been  too  ill  to  be  able  to  tell 
you  before !  So,  hurry  your  hat  on  and  start  at  once !  " 

"  Dear  mamma,  Lena  can  get  the  drops — she  knows 
where  the  store  is — and  then  we  need  not  trouble  Mr. 
Bulkley." 

"  No  trouble ! — no  trouble  at  all !  "  pompously  de- 
clared that  gentleman. 

"  Lena  has  an  oven  full  of  bread  to  watch !  "  snapped 
the  suffering  one,  whose  head  seemed  surprisingly 
clear,  by  spells,  at  least. 

"  Then,"  despairingly  cried  Dorothy,  "  I  will  run  for 
it  myself!  I  can  go  very  quickly,  mamma,  and  per- 
haps Mr.  Bulkley  will  be  so  good  as  to  keep  you  com- 
pany till  I  return  !  " 

"  Dorothy,"  cried  Mrs.  Lawton,  "  are  you  so  utterly 
heartless  that  you  can  deliberately  lengthen  out  this 
period  of  suffering,  simply  to  gratify  some  whim  of 
your  own  ?  O — o — o — h !  "  she  groaned,  dismally. 

While  Mr.  Bulkley  remonstrated :  "  Really,  now, 
my  dear  little  girl,  while  we  have  no  right  to— er— er, 
to  expect  logic  from  a  lovely  creature  like  yourself — 
you'll  pardon  me,  Miss  Dorrie,  but  you  really  don't 
show  your  usual  good  sense  in  this  instance!  It  is 
quite  absurd,  your  idea  of  walking  when  you  can  reach 
the  village  and  return  in  less  than  a  third  of  the  time 
by  driving,  and — and  you  know  the  poor  lady's  com- 
fort should  be  our  first  thought,  so  toss  on  your  hat 
and  let  us  start  at  once !  " 

177 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

With  a  lump  big  and  hard  in  her  throat  the  girl 
turned  and  left  the  room,  and  half  way  up  the  stairs 
she  was  almost  sure  that  she  heard  a  low  laugh  from 
the  room  she  had  left.  "  Oh,"  she  thought,  "  if  only 
papa  was  back  from  his  long  walk,  or  if  my  Syb  were 
here!  How  I  wish  Leslie  had  arrived  before  this 
dreadful  old  man,  who  quite  wears  himself  out  pretend- 
ing to  be  a  young  man !  Oh,  dear !  oh,  dear !  if  Leslie 
should  happen  to  see  me  out  with  Mr.  Bulkley — on 
the  very  day  he  was  to  call !  Oh,  mamma,  mamma ! 
you  are  not  playing  fair !  "  and  she  dried  two  big  tears 
from  her  eyes  before  pulling  down  her  veil,  and  then, 
all  ungloved,  she  ran  down,  and  scrambling  unassisted 
— to  Mr.  Bulkley's  annoyance — into  the  trap,  sat  there 
clutching  the  empty  bottle,  whose  various  labels  told 
plainly  of  visits  to  more  than  one  chemist's  shop,  and 
so  overheard,  though  imperfectly,  the  groom  making 
some  suggestion  about  the  horse,  "  the  chin-strap 
(mumble,  mumble),  curb,  pretty  severe  (mumble, 
mumble),  tender  mouth." 

Mr.  Bulkley's  domineering  tones  answered :  "  Let  it 
alone,  I  tell  you!  I  know  what  I'm  about!  I  don't 
want  my  arms  pulled  out!  Stay  here  till  I  come 
back !  "  And,  without  the  comforting  presence  of  even 
a  groom,  they  started  toward  Yonkers. 

The  mounted  police  of  those  days  found  little  to  do 
on  Broadway,  and  even  less  on  the  quiet  length  and 
breadth  of  Riverdale  Avenue,  and  many  of  them,  from 
very  weariness  and  ennui,  made  pets  of  their  horses, 
sometimes  teaching  them  simple  tricks.  Most  of  the 
men  walked  a  good  deal,  and,  with  bridles  hanging 

178 


A  Strange  Betrothal 

loosely  over  their  arms,  allowed  the  horses  to  browse 
the  grass  at  the  roadside.  But  one  man  had  fallen 
into  the  habit  of  leaving  his  horse  entirely  free,  to  fol- 
low him  like  a  dog.  This  animal  was  the  big  black, 
whose  swollen  leg  Mr.  Lawton  had  been  interested  in, 
in  the  spring.  His  name  was  Napoleon.  He  had  been 
on  the  force  for  years,  and  was  famous  for  his  speed 
in  short  dashes.  He  had  become  well  acquainted  with 
the  Lawtons,  and  would  beg  from  the  girls  in  the  most 
barefaced  manner  whenever  he  met  them ;  while  he  had 
established  apron-nibbling  relations  with  Lena,  who 
talked  much  to  the  policeman  of  her  "  mash-man,"  who 
was  his  friend,  while  Napoleon  meditatively  sampled 
the  gingham  she  wore. 

Sometimes,  while  the  officer  gossiped,  the  horse 
would  be  a  third  of  a  block  and  more  away,  climbing 
an  embankment,  or  reaching  into  some  hollow  after  an 
enticing  bit  of  dandelion  or  clover  clump ;  and  though 
he  answered  to  a  whistle,  as  a  dog  would,  Sybil  had 
several  times  remarked  that  some  day  an  interesting 
moment  would  arrive  for  that  policeman,  that  some 
sudden  call  would  come  for  his  services,  and  before 
the  sundered  man  and  horse  could  be  united  time 
would  be  lost  and  trouble  would  accrue — for  the  man, 
at  least.  But  October  had  arrived,  and  her  prophecy 
was  as  yet  unfulfilled. 

As  Mr.  Bulkley  drove  out  of  the  old  White  house 
gateway  the  most  unobservant  person  must  have  no- 
ticed that  the  big  chestnut  gelding  was  either  in  great 
discomfort  or  in  a  very  bad  temper.  Dorothy  was  sur- 
prised, too,  to  see  Mr.  Bulkley  trying  to  pull  the  ani- 

179 


A  Pasteboard   Crown 

mal,  who  wanted  to  go,  down  to  a  walk,  and,  finally, 
in  a  burst  of  temper,  sawing  the  poor  brute's  mouth 
so  cruelly  that  Dorothy,  with  a  cry  of  pity,  caught  at 
Mr.  Bulkley's  wrist  with  her  ungloved  hand,  saying: 
"  Please,  oh,  please,  don't  do  that,  it  hurts  him  so ! 
See,  there's  a  streak  of  blood  on  the  foam  of  his 
mouth !  " 

And,  at  that  unconscious  touch,  William  Henry 
Bulkley,  with  the  red  of  his  cheek  spreading  over  brow 
and  neck,  turned  avid  eyes  upon  her,  saying  thickly 
that  "  that  little  hand  of  hers  had  power  to  guide  him 
where  it  would,"  adding,  with  brutal  coarseness,  that 
he  "  would  crush  the  horse's  jaw,  like  a  nutshell,  to 
spare  her  annoyance ! "  a  speech  that  was  a  trifle  wide 
of  the  mark,  since  he,  and  not  the  horse,  had  hurt  and 
frightened  her. 

"  Mr.  Bulkley,"  said  Dorothy,  "  won't  you  please  let 
him  go  on  a  little  faster?  Mamma  will  find  the  time 
very  long ! " 

And  her  companion  laughed  aloud,  as,  with  ill-con- 
sidered frankness,  he  made  answer :  "  Oh,  I  guess 
mamma's  all  right !  "  Then  he  traitorously  added : 
"  She's  being  treated  vicariously.  The  drive  you  take 
will  cure  her  headache ! "  laughing  immoderately. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Dorothy,  coldly. 

"  Oh,  my  little  girl !  "  he  gurgled ;  "  my  little  girl, 
whims  in  the  young  and  beautiful  are  not  only  par- 
donable, they  are  adorable.  They  should  be  obeyed 
without  hesitation,  but  the  whims  of  the  elderly  are 
ridiculous.  My  friend  Mrs.  Lawton  has  whims,  and 
that  headache  of  hers  will  be  helped  quite  as  readily  by 

180 


A  Strange  Betrothal 

a  little  quiet  as  by  these  wonderful  drops.  This  is  a 
lovely  day  for  the  view  from  Park  Hill,  and  we'll  just 
drive  up  there  and  enjoy  it !  " 

"  Mr.  Bulkley,"  broke  in  the  distressed  and  angry 
girl,  "  I  must  insist  upon  getting  mamma's  medicine 
and  returning  at  once !  " 

And  just  then,  through  a  side  street  leading  to 
Broadway,  came  Leslie  Gait,  tall,  well  set  up,  well- 
dressed,  some  law  books  under  his  arm,  and  in  his  face 
all  the  pride  and  bright  hopefulness  that  belong  by  nat- 
ural right  to  the  face  of  the  man  who  goes  to  seek  his 
love  and  ask  her  promise.  He  recognized  the  big 
chestnut  as  it  passed  his  corner,  and  also  he  knew  but 
too  well  who  was  the  wearer  of  the  white-winged,  blue- 
veiled  hat,  and  his  heart  sank  like  lead  in  his  breast 
in  bitter  disappointment.  He  stood  a  moment  at 
the  corner,  then,  instead  of  turning  down  Broadway 
toward  Woodsedge,  he  followed  up  the  street  in  the 
direction  taken  by  the  slowly  moving  carriage. 

Dorothy  had  not  seen  him,  but,  instead,  caught  a 
glimpse  of  old  black  Napoleon,  half-way  up  a  bank, 
after  a  bunch  of  late  clover  blooms  peeping  out  invit- 
ingly from  the  fallen  leaves,  while  his  uniformed  mas- 
ter, a  third  of  a  block  away,  conversed  gallantly  with 
a  sturdy  young  blowzy-belle  of  his  own  nationality. 
And  even  as  Sybil's  prophecy  came  into  her  mind,  she 
noted  a  small  store  on  her  left  with  red  and  blue  bottle- 
filled  windows  and  stands  of  soda-water  and  cod-liver 
oil  signs  outside,  and  she  eagerly  cried :  "  Stop,  please ! 
Here's  a  drug-store !  " 

"  But,"  grumbled  Mr.  Bulkley,  "  I  thought  we  werq 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

going  up  into  the  town  ?  This  is  not  the  place  you  in- 
tended going  to  ?  " 

"  Oh,  any  drug-store  will  answer,"  insisted  the  girl ; 
"  the  drops  are  not  difficult  to  prepare." 

And  with  an  angry  jerk  her  vexed  companion  pulled 
the  fretting  horse  in  close  to  the  sidewalk  and  stopped. 
But  as  Dorothy,  bottle  in  hand,  rose,  the  animal  started, 
throwing  her  back  into  her  seat,  and  Mr.  Bulkley's 
loud  "  whoa ! "  and  violent  jerk  on  the  tormented 
mouth  did  not  add  much  to  his  steadiness  in  standing. 
For  again,  yes,  and  a  third  time,  was  Dorothy's  effort 
to  descend  frustrated  by  the  irritable,  nervous  start- 
ing of  the  chestnut. 

And  then  Mr.  Bulkley's  always  feeble  hold  upon  his 
temper  gave  way  entirely,  and,  snatching  the  bottle 
from  the  girl's  hand,  he  violently  exclaimed :  "  Good 
God !  Let  me  get  out !  Here !  "  and  he  flung  the  reins 
into  her  lap  and  sprang  out  of  the  trap.  Answering 
her  startled  cry  with  "  I  won't  be  more  than  a  mo- 
ment !  "  he  started  across  the  walk  to  the  store. 

And  sometimes  more  than  one  would  be  superfluous, 
for  some  moments  are  crowded  with  incident;  this 
was  one  of  them.  In  the  same  instant  that  followed 
the  sudden  lessening  of  the  strain  upon  the  horse's 
mouth  there  had  come  Dorrie's  startled  cry  and  the 
sharp  bang  of  the  store  door,  violently  slammed  by 
Mr.  Bulkley,  each  causing  a  leap  of  the  chestnut's 
every  nerve,  and  followed  by  the  swift  response  of  a 
raked  up  pile  of  leaves  to  some  impish  current  of  air 
that  sent  them  in  swirling  circle  out  into  the  street, 
where,  \vhirling  down  the  hill  like  a  veritable  dancing 

183 


A  Strange  Betrothal 

Dervish  of  the  Dust,  they  passed  fair  between  the 
horse's  legs !  A  bound,  a  long,  wild  scream  from  Dor- 
othy, and  the  chestnut  was  off,  with  the  trap  slewing 
this  way  and  that  from  side  to  side ! 

That  cry  had  reached  Gait's  ears,  and  it  almost 
stopped  the  beating  of  his  heart  for  a  hideous  mo- 
ment. Then,  hurling  the  books  he  carried  to  the 
ground,  he  started  on  a  run,  when  suddenly  he  heard 
the  shrill,  long  whistle  of  the  policeman  recalling 
his  horse,  and  glancing  behind  him  he  saw  the  officer 
racing  toward  him.  Right  in  front  came  the  big,  black 
Napoleon,  obediently  answering  his  master's  call. 
With  a  single  bound  Gait  was  at  the  horse's  side,  had 
grabbed  the  bridle  with  one  hand,  the  pommel  with 
the  other,  and  hurling  himself  into  the  saddle,  pelted 
by  a  very  hail  of  furious  oaths  and  threats  to  shoot, 
he  gave  the  good  old  black  the  heel  and  a  chance  once 
more  to  prove  his  vaunted  speed,  for  the  runaway  was 
now  a  race  between  the  chestnut  and  the  black ! 

And  all  the  time,  this  frantic  lover  on  his  illegal 
mount,  though  praying  dumbly  for  the  safety  of  his 
love,  was,  all  unconsciously,  swearing  like  a  madman. 
The  policeman  followed  until  his  breath  was  gone,  and, 
pausing  an  instant  to  regain  it,  he  saw  a  boy  come 
from  a  side  street,  who  was  exercising  a  livery  horse. 
Before  the  half  of  Jack  Robinson  could  have  been 
said  the  policeman  had  the  boy  by  the  leg,  down,  and 
himself  striding  the  horse,  and  pelted  madly  off  in  wild 
pursuit — and  the  race  became  a  hunt. 

At  sight  of  the  girl  in  the  swaying,  swinging  vehicle, 
people  racing  along  the  sidewalks  cried  out  in  pity. 

183 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

Drivers  turned  out  to  give  free  passage  to  the  furi- 
ous horse.  And  Dorothy,  who,  white-faced,  staring 
straight  ahead,  had  gasped  once  or  twice,  "  Sybbie ! 
oh,  Sybbie ! "  feeling  faintness  stealing  over  her, 
could  only  hope  it  might  come  before  the  inevitable 
crash. 

And  then  she  was  dimly  conscious  of  regularly  beat- 
ing hoofs  behind  her.  Something  dark  showed  close 
at  her  side,  fell  back,  reappeared,  seemed  stationary 
for  a  moment,  then  rushed  ahead,  and  she  recognized 
Napoleon,  and  wondered  vaguely  why  his  rider  wore 
no  uniform. 

The  old  horse  knew  his  business  well.  He  had 
avoided  the  wheels,  but  now  crowded  in  close  upon 
the  runaway.  Gait  reached  for  and  caught  the  bridle ; 
the  chestnut  swerved  to  the  sidewalk;  then  a  tree,  a 
high  curb,  cramped  wheels,  sudden  splintering  of  a 
shaft,  and  the  high  cart  was  over,  and  Dorothy,  hurled 
half-way  across  the  street,  fell  on  one  doubled-up  arm 
and  lay  silent  and  motionless. 

The  crowd  that  so  miraculously  appears  upon  the 
scene  of  even  a  suburban  accident,  was  closing  about 
her,  when,  leaving  the  horses  to  the  care  or  the  neglect 
of  others,  Leslie  Gait  dropped  on  one  knee,  and  lift- 
ing the  pallid  face,  whose  left  side,  dust-smeared, 
bruised,  and  sand-cut,  was  so  piteous  a  sight  to  him, 
in  breathless,  unthinking  baste,  cried :  "  Dorothy !  my 
darling  t  For  God's  sake,  speak  to  me !  " 

And  even  as  the  words  left  his  lips  he  remembered 
his  situation,  but  it  was  too  late.  He  caught  the  ex- 
changed glances,  the  half-wink,  half-leer  on  the  face. 

184 


A  Strange  Betrothal 

of  a  hulking  fellow,  and,  like  a  flash,  boldly  lied  to 
protect  the  helpless  girl,  saying :  "  Run  for  a  doctor, 
someone,  please !  This  is  my  affianced  wife,  Miss  Law- 
ton,  and  I  dare  not  think  of  leaving  her !  " 

The  effect  of  that  statement  was  instantaneous. 
Murmurs  of  sympathy  were  heard,  women  pressed 
closer.  One  drew  the  tossed  skirt  smooth  about  the 
girl's  ankles ;  another  produced  a  smelling  bottle  from 
her  chatelaine;  a  third  gently  strove  to  straighten 
that  crumpled  looking  arm;  while  the  leering  fellow 
went  plunging  diagonally  across  the  street  to  call  out 
a  doctor  residing  near.  Gait  had  barely  time  to  feel 
a  pang  of  terror  over  his  headlong  assertion,  an  awful 
fear  that  Dorothy  might  repudiate  his  claim,  when  the 
furious  policeman  came  pounding  up,  threatening  un- 
speakable and  dire  punishment  for  this  disturber  of 
the  peace,  this  breaker  of  the  law,  and — and  horse- 
thief,  and  demanding  that  he  submit  at  once  to  ar- 
rest. 

"  All  right,"  answered  Gait.  "  As  an  officer  you  have 
every  right  to  hale  me  to  prison ;  and  yet,  as  a  man, 
I'm  sure  you  will  make  some  allowance  for  a  fellow 
who  sees  his  future  wife  in  danger !  For,"  desperately 
thought  Leslie,  "  I  may  as  well  hang  for  a  sheep  as  a 
lamb,  and  stick  now  to  my  claim." 

Then,  with  a  glint  in  his  eye,  he  added,  innocently: 
"  I  know  you  are  anxious  not  only  to  lock  me  up, 
officer,  but  to  get  the  opportunity  to  explain  to  your 
superiors  how  you  and  your  horse  came  to  be  so  widely 
separated  while  you  were  on  duty  ?  " 

The  policeman's  jaw  dropped  a  bit.  He  looked  dis- 
185 


The  Promised  Crown 

tinctly  troubled.  A  lady  came  out  just  then  and  asked 
that  the  injured  girl  be  brought  into  her  house,  and, 
as  the  policeman  stooped  to  help  Leslie  lift  her,  he 
exclaimed :  "  God  be  good  to  us !  Wh-y  it's  Miss 
Dorothy  Lawton !  Won't  there  be  ructions  when  the 
old  man  at  home  hears  of  this!  Them  girls  are  just 
his  two  eyes!  What's  that?  Will  I  be  leavin'  you 
free  of  arrist  till  the  doctor  comes?  What  kind  of  a 
bounder  do  you  take  me  for,  anyway?  I'll  leave  you 
free  till  you'll  be  gettin'  the  little  colleen  safe  home, 
sure,  and  thin  maybe  you'll  show  up  and  stand  for  a 
fine  and  the  like  ?  Divil  take  that  gang  out  there !  " 
and  out  he  charged  upon  the  crowd. 

Finding  himself  for  a  few  precious  moments  alone 
with  Dorothy,  who  was  lying  on  a  settle  in  a  hall, 
Gait  began  a  hurried  search  of  his  breast-pocket.  He 
brought  out  a  small  box,  and,  opening  it,  was  shaking 
out  into  his  palm  a  glittering  ring,  when  a  faint  moan 
reached  his  ear,  and,  bending  over,  he  saw  the  blue 
eyes  he  loved  slowly  open,  saw  the  dazed  look  pass- 
ing, and  as  glad  recognition  dawned  in  them  he 
swiftly  took  her  hand,  and  slipping  the  ring  upon  her 
finger,  he  whispered,  rapidly,  urgently :  "  Little  Dor- 
othy, listen!  Try  to  understand!  And  oh,  try,  too, 
to  forgive  me!  But  you  are  hurt,  dear,  and  that  I 
may  have  the  right  to  protect  and  care  for  you,  I — I 
— oh,  Dorrie,  see,  dear !  "  He  lifted  her  hand  that  she 
might  see  the  ring.  "  I  have  dared  to  claim  you,  sweet 
— have  declared  you  my  promised  wife!  For  God's 
sake,  don't  deny  me !  Promise !  " 


j86 


A  Strange  Betrothal 

But  Dorothy  promised  nothing.  The  faint  blush 
that  had  crept  into  her  cheek  died  there.  The  wide- 
amazed  eyes  slowly  closed,  and  in  utter  silence  she 
slipped  back  into  the  unconsciousness  in  which  the 
doctor  presently  found  her. 


187 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  COSTUMING  OF   JULIET 

While  Dorothy  was  taking  prominent  and  uncom- 
fortable part  in  that  impromptu  "  Wild  West "  show 
on  Broadway,  in  picturesque  and  hilly  Yonkers,  Sybil, 
in  New  York,  sat  in  Mrs.  Van  Camp's  old-timey 
drawing-room  and  fairly  astounded  her  hostess  by 
confiding  to  her  Mrs.  Lawton's  evident  desire  to  marry 
Dorrie  to  William  Henry  Bulkley. 

"  Has  Letitia  gone  stark,  staring  mad  ? "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  Why,  the  man  is  the  merest  nobody,  who 
could  no  more  name  his  grandfather  than  he  could 
fly !  Money  he  has — yes,  of  course !  But  money  with- 
out family  can't  balance  the  public  flaunting  of  all  his 
coarse  amours,  his  bad  manners,  and  worse  temper! 
She  must  perfectly  remember,  too,  the  life  he  led  his 
poor  wife — who  was,  by  the  way,  a  member  of  the 
Massachusetts  Stone  family.  Why,  her  great-uncle 
was  a  judge,  and  her  second  cousin  was  lieutenant- 
governor  of  the  State.  How  she  ever  came  to  accept 
young  Bulkley  is  a  mystery.  But  she  paid  for  her 
folly,  poor  thing.  However,  I  shall  take  it  upon  my- 
self to  inform  Letitia  Lawton  of  some  of  the  atrocities 
of  his  recent  years,  and  tell  her  that  as  his  wife  Dorothy 
would  be  as  dead  socially  as  if  she  were  over  in  Green- 
wood." 

1 88 


The  Costuming  of  Juliet 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  shivered  Sybil,  "  dear  god-mamma ! 
I  hope  I  may  go  to  Greenwood  before  my  little  sister 
Dorrie  does ! " 

And  Mrs.  Van  Camp  pushed  the  girl's  dark  hair 
back  with  a  caressing  touch  and  said :  "  How  devoted 
you  two  girls  are  to  each  other !  You  might  be  twins. 
Even  as  children  I  never  knew  you  to  squabble  or  sulk. 
You,  Sybbie,  had  a  furious  temper,  but  your  rages 
were  almost  always  in  defence  of  Dorothy.  Do  you 
remember  how  you  kicked  the  shins  of  the  gardener 
once  because  he  had  kicked  her  dog?" 

"  Yes ! "  laughed  Sybil,  "  and  scratched  and  bit  a 
boy-tramp  who  attempted  to  snatch  her  little  locket 
from  her  neck.  But  I  can't  help  loving  her,  for  she's 
the  bravest,  sweetest,  jolliest,  prettiest  sister  a  girl  ever 
had,  and  she's  all  the  world  to  me !  " 

And  Mrs.  Van  Camp,  laughing  a  little  at  her  en- 
thusiasm, held  up  a  finger  and  said,  "  Wait !  " 

And  a  bit  later  Sybil  was  on  her  way  to  the  theatre, 
where  Mr.  Thrall  joined  her,  and  together  they  walked 
to  a  house  on  Fourth  Avenue,  where  Sybil  was  pre- 
sented to  an  ancient  couple,  who  in  the  profession  were 
recognized  as  authorities  on  the  subject  of  correct 
historic  costuming. 

Never  had  the  girl  received  a  greater  surprise.  She 
had  expected  a  stately  and  dignified  presence,  and  cer- 
tainly the  sumptuous  entourage  of  a  very  fashionable 
dressmaker.  But  here  there  was  no  reception-room, 
no  parlor,  no  fitting-room,  no  boy  in  buttons.  Here 
the  thing  that  first  commanded  attention  and  longest 
held  it  was  the  almost  overpowering  odor  of  garlic. 

189 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

It  led  them  through  the  little  drab  hallway,  up  the 
stairs,  and  to  the  door  of  the  stuffy  and  crowded  liv- 
ing room,  where  an  old  woman  in  a  false  front  and  a 
black  alpaca  dress  and  a  snuffy  old  man  in  carpet 
slippers  received  them. 

And,  as  they  heartily  greeted  the  manager,  Sybil 
wondered  what  on  earth  there  could  be  in  common 
between  the  rich  and  splendid  dresses  she  had  seen  at 
the  theatre  and  these  frumpish  old  people,  while  she 
shuddered  at  the  thought  of  their  stumpy,  uncared-for 
hands,  pulling  about  beautiful  satins  and  velvets. 
"  But  of  course,"  she  thought,  "  they  have  people  un- 
der them  who  do  the  real  work."  Afterward  she  knew 
that  it  was  the  cunning  of  these  same  fingers  that  pro- 
duced all  the  wonderful  embroideries  in  bullion  and 
spangles  that  are  so  difficult  to  obtain  in  this  country. 

Now,  however,  she  saw  that  Mr.  Thrall  treated  the 
couple  most  deferentially.  Indeed,  he  was  secretly 
anxious  to  see  what  impression  his  "  Princess,"  as  he 
mentally  called  Sybil,  would  make  upon  the  old  pair, 
who  had  dressed  every  famous  Juliet  of  the  past  twenty 
years,  and  who  were  in  their  own  way  veritable  artists. 

He  had  come  there  with  one  or  two  fixed  ideas  on 
the  subject  in  hand,  and  he  hoped  there  might  not  be 
a  struggle  with  the  old  pair,  whose  obstinacy  he  well 
knew.  But  he  had  a  vision  of  Sybil  with  cloudy,  dark 
hair,  all  netted  over  with  pearls,  after  the  Venetian 
fashion,  with  pearl-encircled  neck  and  arms,  and  pearl- 
engirdled  waist;  and  he  was  determined  that  she 
should  not  wear  glittering  ornaments  of  any  kind — 
which  he  rather  fancied  they  would  favor — or  much 

190 


The  Costuming  of  Juliet 

gold  and  general  splendor,  after  the  style  in  which 
they  had  clothed  the  Juliet  of  his  previous  season.  For 
he  forgot  how  well  these  old  people  knew  their  busi- 
ness, or  perhaps  he  did  not  know  the  passionate  love 
of  beauty  that  produced  in  them  an  almost  poetic 
power  of  expression,  through  color,  fabrics,  draperies. 
They  were  like  artists,  who  got  their  "  darks  "  from 
heavy  velvets,  "  middle  tints  "  from  cloths  and  satins, 
and  their  "  highest  lights  "  from  laces  and  jewels. 

Sybil,  hatted  and  veiled  and  jacketted,  had  remained 
in  the  background,  a  position  that  gave  her  a  glimpse 
of  another  room,  shelved  about  from  floor  to  ceiling, 
with  every  shelf  quite  crowded  with  green  boxes.  She 
had  been  so  interested  in  her  surroundings  that  she 
had  not  heeded  the  conversation  going  on  until  the 
strong  disapproval  on  both  old  faces  drew  her  attention 
to  the  words  "  society  "  and  "  debutante  " ;  and  when,  to 
a  question,  Mr.  Thrall  answered,  "  Juliet,"  they  gazed 
at  him  with  incredulous  wonder  for  a  moment.  Then, 
exchanging  glances  of  contemptuous  derision  that 
made  poor  Sybil's  cheeks  burn,  with  innumerable 
shrugs  and  much  sniffing  they  scuffled  back  and  forth, 
bringing  out  and  throwing  open  boxes,  until  the  room 
was  presently  a  confusion  of  such  splendid  materials 
as  velvets,  satins,  crepes,  of  silver  tissues  and  cloth  of 
gold ;  while  camphor  gum  and  cedar  wood  sent  odors 
from  the  boxes  holding  rare  furs,  cut  into  strips  of 
trimming  width,  correct  for  king  or  prince,  for  judge 
or  queen.  For  in  this  cramped  and  shabby  place  one 
could  be  provided  with  everything,  from  the  rough 
woolens  and  leathers  of  Macbeth,  the  black  and  purple 

191 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

satins,  the  jet  and  sable  of  Hamlet,  the  crimson  velvets 
and  ermine  of  queens,  the  embroideries  and  laced  frip- 
peries of  white-wigged  courtiers,  down  to  the  floating 
gauze  of  a  Titania  and  the  silvered  wings  of  a  cupid. 

In  the  splendor  of  the  display  Sybil  forgot  her  re- 
cent mortification,  and  thrilled  with  delight  at  the 
thought  that  some  portion  of  it  was  to  be  placed  at 
her  service — for  her  adornment ! 

As  the  old  man  came  lumbering  in  with  two  great 
volumes,  bearing  the  title  "  Modes  et  Costumes  Histo- 
rique — Etranger,"  and,  slamming  them  down  on  the 
table,  began  ostentatiously  turning  over  the  colored 
plates,  Thrall,  laughing  good-naturedly,  closed  the 
book,  saying :  "  Now,  now,  Lef ebvre !  You  and  Nonna 
Angelique  here  need  no  plates  to  dress  Shakspere's 
people  by,  and  you  won't  be  so  cross  when  you  see 
your  new  Juliet !  Come  now,  Madame,  no  one  knows 
better  than  you  do  how  important  is  the  setting  of  a 
jewel !  Oh,  I  know  what  that  shrug  means  and  that 
'la,  la,  la!'  But  as  a  just  woman  you  must  at  least 
see  my  young  Capulet  before  you  condemn  her.  Miss 
Lawton,"  he  continued,  "  please  remove  your  jacket. 
Thanks !  And  now  take  off  your  veil  and  hat,  please !  " 

The  autumn  wind  had  somewhat  roughened  Sybil's 
hair,  and  she  raised  her  hands  to  smooth  it,  but  he 
stopped  her :  "  Not  for  the  world !  "  he  said,  laugh- 
ingly. Then  he  took  her  by  the  hand  and  led  her  to 
the  centre  of  the  room,  saying: 

"  Monsieur  et  Madame,  you  will  kindly  costume  this 
young  girl  for  me,  but  only  if  you  can  see  in  her  a 
Juliet.  If  not,  why — "  he  stopped. 

192 


The  Costuming  of  Juliet 

Flushed,  excited,  embarrassed  under  deliberate  in- 
spection, Sybil  stood  with  downcast  eyes  and  red,  half- 
sullen  lip,  already  quivering  to  a  smile. 

The  old  pair  stood  at  gaze.  Then  mutely  the  wom- 
an's hand  went  out  and  was  caught  in  his. 

The  girl  saw,  and  with  her  sudden  flashing  smile, 
she  raised  imploring,  dark  eyes  and  looked  at  them. 

"Par  Dieu!"  cried  old  Lefebvre,  "'tis  Juliet's 
self!" 

"  And  oh,  mon  Dieu !  mon  Dieu !  "  the  old  woman 
exclaimed,  "  if  you  can  act  as  you  can  look  the  part ! 
Oh,  Mr.  Thrall,  I  crave  your  pardon !  Will  I  costume 
her? — will  If  We  shall  make  of  her  that  last  blossom 
of  the  House  of  Capulet — the  very  Juliet  herself ! " 
She  turned  and  half  whispered  to  the  old  man,  "  Slight 
and  dark !  " 

He  took  snuff  furiously,  and  added :  "  Rich  colored, 
quick  tempered,  hot !  " 

And  then,  together :  "  Let's  see !  let's  see ! "  and 
they  turned  excitedly  toward  their  boxes. 

"  No  velvet,  I  think  ?  "  suggested  Thrall,  who  was 
highly  elated  that  his  judgment,  so  far,  had  been  so 
heartily  seconded  by  this  experienced  old  couple. 

"  Velvet  ?  Bah !  "  responded  Nonna  Angelique,  with 
a  condemnatory  wave  of  the  hand  that  swept  velvet 
entirely  out  of  consideration.  "  Too  old !  too  heavy ! 
but — but — "  she  tossed  things  right  and  left  in  hur- 
ried, nervous  search.  — "  Where's  that  blond  lace 
scarf  ?  "  she  fretted,  "  where  ? — where  ?  And  why 
don't  you  open  the  cabinet,  and  not  stand  there  wast- 
ing time,  mon  mari  ?  " 

193 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

As  they  stood  waiting,  Stewart  Thrall  said,  laugh- 
ingly :  "  Patience,  patience !  We  are  in  the  hands  of 
the  powers  that  be.  These  are  the  people  who  '  paint 
the  lily  '  and — er — er — touch  up  refined  gold !  And, 
Miss  Lawton,  haven't  you  been  about  a  theatre 
long  enough  to  learn  how  indiscreet  it  is  to  laugh  at 
your  manager's  imperfect  quotations  ?  You  should  re- 
serve your  merriment  for  those  occasions  when  he  tells 
a  supposedly  funny  story.  Ah!  ah!  the  lost  is 
found !  " 

For  Nonna  Angelique  came  trotting  up  with  a  long 
scarf  of  silky  old  blond  lace  trailing  from  her  hands, 
and  Sybil,  turning  toward  her,  gave  a  cry  of  rapture. 
Drawer,  too,  after  drawer  had  been  drawn  out  from 
the  chiffonier,  and  from  their  velvet-lined  depths  there 
came  a  blaze  and  glow  and  gleam  and  such  dancing 
prismatic  colors  of  violet,  indigo,  blue,  green,  yellow, 
orange,  red,  from  jewels  in  such  good  and  careful 
setting  that,  imitation  though  they  were,  they  com- 
manded admiration  even  in  broad  daylight. 

Among  these  crowns  and  crosses,  stomachers  and 
necklaces,  there  were  minutely  exact  copies  of  some 
famous  originals  treasured  in  the  museums  of  Europe. 
Nor  were  these  ornaments  cheap;  the  price  of  many 
of  them  was  told  in  hundreds  of  dollars,  not  tens.  And 
Sybil,  while  missing  their  real  value,  which  lay  in  their 
historical  accuracy,  might  well  be  forgiven  for  her 
childish  delight  in  their  meretricious  splendor. 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  Dorrie  could  see,  too !  "  she  ex- 
Claimed,  and  the  snuffy  old  man  nudged  his  rumpled 
old  wife  with  his  elbow,  and,  looking  at  Sybil's  flushed 

194 


The  Costuming  of  Juliet 

and  happy  young  face,  they  wagged  their  heads  know- 
ingly. 

And  Stewart  Thrall  said  to  himself:  "  To  watch  her 
countenance  is  like  watching  the  surface  of  a  land- 
locked lake — one  moment  glass-smooth  beneath  the 
sun,  then  reflecting  a  slow  white  cloud,  then  breaking 
into  ripples,  fretting  into  waves  and  blackening  to 
sudden  storm!  Ah,  surely  you  are  the  headlong 
Capulet  in  love  with  love !  "  and  his  meditation  broke 
off  short. 

Lefebvre  was  advancing,  diamond  coronet  in  hand, 
and  he  anxiously  waited  results.  Nonna  Angelique, 
with  stumpy  brown  fingers,  had  still  further  loosened 
Sybil's  black  hair  and  fluffed  it  out,  crooning  to  her- 
self the  while,  and  had  turned  her  head  this  way  and 
that,  bent  it  down,  lifted  it,  then  put  her  hand  out 
for  the  coronet  her  husband  brought,  placed  it,  drew 
back  a  step,  then  tore  it  off  to  a  chorus  of,  "  No !  no !  " 

"  Too  old !  "  said  Lefebvre. 

"  C'est  cela !  too  old !  "  nodded  Nonna  Angelique. 

"  Too  old !  "  acquiesced  Thrall. 

Then  was  handed  over  a  golden  net,  studded  with 
jewels;  and  oh,  Sybil  did  hope  they  would  let  her 
wear  that ! 

Old  Angelique  put  it  on  with  deft  hands.  "  Mais 
comme  elle  est  belle !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  but " 

Thrall  shook  his  head  and  repeated :  "  Beautiful, 
but " 

And  the  old  man  explained  the  "  buts  "  fully  with 
the  remark :  "  Too  Zingary,  n'est  ce  pas  ?  " 

"  Yes !  yes !  "  cried  Nonna,  throwing  her  arms  over 

195 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

her  head  and  snapping-  her  ringers  to  imitate  castanets. 
"  Oui !  oui !  too  Zingary — too  gypsy-like !  "  and  off 
came  the  golden  net. 

A  head-piece  of  colored  stones  barely  touched  her 
brow  when,  with  a  contemptuous  "  Bah !  too  Egyp- 
tian !  "  it  was  returned  to  the  drawer. 

The  costumers  stood  looking  at  each  other,  silently. 
Thrall  waited ;  he  wanted  them  to  propose  pearls 
themselves,  and  thus  avoid  a  wrangle,  for  they  did  not 
accept  suggestions  willingly.  Then,  suddenly,  Nonna 
Angelique  said :  "  Let  me  hear  the  voice,  Mr.  Thrall. 
Give  her  a  cue ;  let  me  know  whether  her  voice  matches 
the  mobilite  of  her  face.  That  may  give  me  my  idee !  " 

Sybil  gave  a  frightened,  deprecating,  "  Oh,  Mr. 
Thrall!" 

But  he  answered  with :  "  Steady !  steady !  "  then 
added :  "  Give  her  '  Wherefore  art  thou  Romeo  ?  ' ' 

She  looked  at  him  with  dilating  eyes,  then  clasped 
her  hands,  and  gazing  into  space,  obediently  began : 

"  Oh,  Romeo  !  Romeo  !  wherefore  art  thou,  Romeo  ? 
Deny  thy  father  and  refuse  thy  name — 
Or,  if  thou  wilt  not,  be  but  sworn — my — love  ! 
And  [with  a  rush]  I'll  no  longer  be  a  Capulet!  " 

Nonna  Angelique  caught  the  girl's  face  between  her 
hands  and  kissed  her  soundingly.  It  had  been  an  un- 
expected test,  and  Thrall,  pleased  at  her  courage  and 
obedience,  was  simply  delighted  with  the  effect  she 
got  from  that  pause,  as  if  at  her  own  temerity  in  using 
the  words: 

"...    be  but  sworn — my  love ! " 
196 


The  Costuming  of  Juliet 

and  then  the  reckless  dash  of  the  declaration : 
" .    .    .     I'll  no  longer  be  a  Capulet ! " 

And  Sybil,  glancing  up,  noted  for  the  very  first  time 
the  extreme  beauty  of  the  man's  eyes,  and  if  the  open 
admiration  beaming  from  their  sapphire  depths  gave 
her  a  thrill  of  gratification,  it  was  the  approval  of  the 
manager  that  moved  her,  not  the  man,  she  told  her- 
self;  and  since  there  is  no  one  in  this  world  so  easy 
to  deceive  as  one's  self,  she  undoubtedly  believed  her 
own  statement. 

"  Ah !  ah !  monsieur,  you  have  a  find  in  this  young 
girl !  "  said  old  Lefebvre  to  Thrall.  "  She  should  be 
a  big  card — and  in  your  hands,  eh  ?  "  he  poked  the 
managerial  ribs  and  winked  his  round  black  eye  know- 
ingly. "  The  wires  will  be  pulled,  eh?  And  the  pub- 
lic, it  will  dance !  And  the  dollars  they  will  rattle,  eh  ? 
A-a-ah !  Qu'est-ce,  cherie  ?  Les  perles  ?  mais  oui — 
certainement !  In  a  moment  I  shall  bring  them !  My 
key?  Ah,  the  devil  flies  away  with  everything  this 
day !  Where  is  my  key  ?  Ah,  here  in  my  vest-pocket 
all  the  time !  " 

And  at  last  Thrall's  patience  was  rewarded  as  pearls 
came  to  the  front,  and  "  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Sybil,  in 
amazed  delight.  For  her  idea  of  imitation  pearls  had 
been  founded  upon  the  cheap  bluish-white  glass  beads 
with  just  a  skim  of  wax  for  lining.  Now  she  stood 
astonished  by  the  weight  and  lustre  of  these  lovely 
things  from  Paris,  where  by  some  clever  artifice  the 
scales  of  fish  are  used  to  produce  upon  the  forms  of 
almost  solid  wax  the  wonderful  "  nacre  "  of  the  true 

197 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

gem  of  the  sea.  So  artistic  was  the  work  that  small  im- 
perfections in  shape  and  flaws  in  tinting  had  been 
carefully  reproduced,  the  monotony  of  a  mechanical 
perfection  being  thus  avoided.  Really  they  were  very 
beautiful,  and  among  those  selected  strands  intended 
for  the  throat  it  was  as  if  color,  having  life  and  breath, 
a  rosy  pink,  had  gently  breathed  across  their  milky 
lustre,  faintly  flushing  the  swelling  round  of  each 
great  pearl.  Nor  were  they  too  frail  for  service; 
weight  and  solidity  made  them  almost  as  durable  as 
the  true  jewel's  self.  And  here  was  bunch  after  bunch 
of  seed  pearls,  so  small,  for  embroidery  on  lace  or 
satin;  long  strands  for  plaiting  in  the  hair,  for  the 
suspension  from  the  waist  of  feather  fan  or  tiny  mir- 
rors a  la  Marie  Stuart,  when  dauphine  of  France; 
great  girdles  for  the  waist,  whose  pendant  tassels  fell 
almost  to  the  wearer's  feet.  And  at  last — at  last,  the 
heavy  net  which  he  so  much  wished  to  see  upon  that 
waywardly  waving  dark  cloud  of  hair ! 

Old  Angelique,  having  raised  a  sternly  instructing 
index  finger  to  close  proximity  with  Sybil's  glowing 
face,  proceeded  to  strike  off  with  it  upon  the  air  these 
verbal  commands :  "  You  will  do  exact  now  as  I  tell 
you,  if  you  wish  to  look  the  little  Juliet — so  high-bred, 
so  headstrong,  yet  so  young!  Mais,  so  young — mon 
Dieu!  mon  Dieu!  comme — like  a  bebe!  Now  make 
the  mark  of  my  words,  Miss — Miss — er  ?  Lawsons  ! 
oui !  oui !  merci !  For  I  have  in  the  mind  that  Juliet — 
me — I  know !  So  you  must  make  no  height  on  the 
top  of  the  head,  no  cross  braid,  no  pile  up  curl,  no 
coronet!  No — no!  that  make  very  handsome,  mais — 

198 


The  Costuming  of  Juliet 

but  not  the  Juliet!  Tumble  the  hair  to  the  shoulders, 
half  curl !  No  curl,  all  regular !  Wat  is  call  'em,  'em 
ring-a-let?  No!  no!  half-curl,  half-wave — oui!  all 
natural!  And  for  the  front,  the  hair  all  fluff — so! 
[puffing  out  her  breath] — low  to  the  brows,  that  the 
big  eyes  look  from  under  it,  like  from  a  cloud.  Then 
turn  all  back  from  the  cheeks,  after  the  manner  of  the 
angels  in  the  old  masters'  pictures !  Obey  me,  and  you 
shall  see !  The  city  shall  see !  Why,  even  now !  " 
She  flung  the  net  upon  Sybil's  head,  drawing  a  pear- 
shaped  pendant  pearl  forward  to  rest  upon  her  brow, 
rapidly  twisted  the  white  lace  scarf  about  her  shoul- 
ders to  hide  the  street  gown,  threw  a  rope  of  pearls 
about  her  neck,  and  with  triumphant  eyes  turned  to 
Thrall,  saying :  "  Is  not  the  Italian  angel's  the  coiffure 
correct  for  this,  Miss  Lawsons  ?  " 

Thrall  answered,  briefly,  "  Quite  correct !  " 

And  Sybil,  with  an  ecstatic  sigh,  said  again :  "  How 
I  do  wish  Dorothy  were  here !  " 

And  Thrall  commented :  "  Your  lovers  have  cause 
for  jealousy  of  that  young  sister,  I  fancy,  Miss  Law- 
ton?" 

But,  with  careless  frankness,  Sybil  answered :  "  I 
never  had  a  lover  in  my  life!  So  Dorrie  can  have 
caused  no  jealousy,  you  see!"  and  turned  her  whole 
attention  back  to  Nonna  Angelique,  who  was  check- 
ing off  costumes  on  her  fingers. 

And  she  would  have  been  an  astonished  girl  had 
she  been  told  that  her  brusquely  spoken  words  had 
made  this  man's  heart  leap  in  his  breast,  as  no  se- 
ductive wile  of  most  tactful  coquetry  could  have  done ; 

199 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

and  the  fact  that  he  had  no  right  to  heed  the  words  of 
any  maid,  however  sweet  or  fair,  did  nothing  to  check 
that  hurried  thumping  at  his  ribs.  For,  like  many 
other  men,  he  had  something  of  the  explorer's  spirit 
about  him — something  that  responded  eagerly  to  the 
charm  of  the  strange,  the  vague,  the  new, — something 
that  makes  the  would-be  explorer  of  the  terra  incog- 
nita ignore  all  thought  of  danger,  and  dream  only  of 
the  beauty  of  virgin  forests,  strange  flowers,  and 
fabled  fountains  of  youth  and  love  eternal !  No  one 
could  have  guessed  that  the  calm-faced,  stately  gen- 
tleman, looking  on  at  the  selection  of  Juliet's  finery, 
was  mentally  repeating  those  candid,  girlish  words: 
"  I  never  had  a  lover  in  my  life !  " 

"  Ah,  no !  "  he  thought ;  "  no  more  had  Juliet  ever 
had  a  lover  in  her  life,  up  to  an  hour  before  that 
'  trifling,  foolish  banquet,'  given  by  old  Capulet.  Yet, 
ere  its  end,  swift  love  had  grown  so  great  that  she  had 
declared  already  for  the  grave,  if  'twere  a  passion  un- 
requited !  " 

Then  old  Angelique  broke  in  upon  his  thought,  and 
claimed  attention  with :  "  The  cloak,  now,  Mr.  Thrall 
— the  cloak  for  the  visit  to  old  Laurence's  cell  ?  Shall 
it  be  black  or  brown  or  gray  ?  " 

"  Gray !  "  he  answered,  readily.  "  Dark  gray,  I 
think,  gives  a  hint  of  mystery.  Though,  'tis  true, 
Juliet  seeks  the  Friar  with  her  parents'  knowledge, 
still  it  is  with  secret  purpose.  So  gray  and  very  large 
and  full  and  hooded,  Nonna  Angelique,  so  that  a  young 
maid  might  slip  like  a  shadow  by  high  walls  and 
through  Verona's  streets  to  the  cloisters  of  the  con- 

200 


The  Costuming  of  Juliet 

vent  without  revealing  a  trace  of  beauty  or  of  rich  at- 
tire/' 

"  C'est  bon !  c'est  bon !  "  nodded  Lefebvre,  taking  a 
prodigious  pinch  of  snuff,  and  entering  in  a  greasy  lit- 
tle note-book  "  One  large,  gray,  circle  cloak,  hooded  " 
— "  c'est  bon !  " 

On  Angelique's  four  fingers  her  grimy  thumb 
checked  off  "  Cloak  for  Friar's  cell — gray.  Chamber 
scene — white,  of  course,  but  flowing,  loose,  long,  light 
as  air.  For  tomb — white  also,  but  heavy,  rich,  eh? 
The  satin  gown  for  County  Paris  bride,  and  only  one 
spot  of  color,  eh?  The  jewelled  sheath  of  the  dagger, 
at  the  waist.  Oh,  yes !  oh,  yes !  all  that  is  clear,  but — 
but,  my  Mr.  Manager,  how  shall  it  be  for  the  ball — 
for  that  first  time  to  meet  the  Romeo — eh  ?  " 

She  pursed  her  lips,  she  scratched  her  forehead 
thoughtfully,  and  so  pushed  her  false  front  over  to  a 
most  rakish  angle.  But  the  old  man  shuffled  across 
the  room,  and  with  a :  "  Permettez  that  I  correct  the 
coiffure,  my  Angelique!  It  have  slide,  and  it  make  a 
little  of  what  you  call  the — the  '  jaky  '  look !  That 
way — so !  "  And  with  the  palms  of  both  hands  he 
calmly  replaced  the  foxy-red  front,  and  the  search  for 
a  color  suitable  for  the  first  act  went  on. 

Thrall,  drawing  his  hand  lightly  across  the  loosened 
folds  of  many  webs,  over  purples,  mauves,  ambers, 
with  a  snapping  accompaniment  of  "  No !  no !  no ! " 
paused,  by  merest  chance,  at  a  delicate  blue  brocade, 
at  which  Angelique  almost  shrieked :  "  No !  no ! — I  say 
no!  Pretty?  Yes,  mais  too  calm — cool — collected — 
obedient !  Ah,  bah !  A  fool  color !  What,  that  ambe.r 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

would  become  her  ?  Hear  you  that,  old  man  ?  "  She 
appealed  to  Lefebvre  with  up-cast  hands :  "  Y-es,  and 
it  would  be  Spanish  in  effect !  Oh,  what  is  it  that  we 
want  ?  " 

The  old  man  squinted  up  his  eyes,  and,  studying 
Sybil,  answered :  "  Something  happy,  v-e-r-y  happy ! 
Something  like  a  flower,  a-a  very  early  flower — but 
what?" 

And  Thrall,  who  had  caught  the  old  snuff-taker's 
idea,  asked,  quickly:  "Why  not  the  blossom  of  the 
peach?  That's  early !  " 

"  God  bless  the  man ! "  cried  Nonna  Angelique, 
throwing  her  arms  about  him  in  frantic  demonstration 
of  delight.  "  It  is  the  coup-de-grace !  The  pinks,  mon 
mari !  vite !  vite  done !  Vraiment  you  have  the  head 
still !  A  happy  color,  said  you !  " 

She  threw  out  a  fold  of  satin  her  husband  offered: 
"  Non !  non !  it  is  too  deep — too  common !  "  Another : 
"  Bah !  too  pale,  but  mere  flesh  color !  "  A  beautiful 
bright  pink  brocade  next  was  tried.  "  Oh,  non  !  non  !  " 
she  almost  cried  from  disappointment ;  "  too-'er,  too- 
'er ! "  In  despair  she  resorted  to  pantomime  to  help 
make  her  meaning  clear,  and,  catching  up  her  skimpy 
alpaca  skirt,  she  danced  a  wild  step  or  two,  saying: 
"  Too  comme-Qa !  too  what  you  call  '  frisky,'  eh  ?  You 
feel  me,  what  I  mean?  But  that  sweet,  first  flower- 
ing thing — that  soft  promise  of  the  spring,  that  peach- 
blossom  pink,  that  would  make  this  dark  girl  beauti- 
ful— can  I  not  find  it,  then  ?  "  She  beat  her  breast  with 
Gallic  despair.  Lefebvre  clutched  his  few  hairs,  and 
apparently  pulled  up  a  memory,  and  cried :  "  One 

202 


The  Costuming  of  Juliet 

chance  more!  The  old  chest  with  Eastern  things! 
India,  China,  Japan !  "  He  disappeared — he  lost  a 
shoe,  but  left  it  lying  till  he  came  back,  and  slid  into  it 
in  passing.  Some  rolls  were  cast  down,  soft,  non-crack- 
ling paper  removed,  and,  with  cries  of  joy  and  gurgles 
of  delight,  Nonna  Angelique  flung  out,  fold  upon  fold, 
a  silky  crepe  of  so  pure  and  true  a  peach-blossom  pink 
that  the  petals  of  the  flower  itself  scattered  over  it 
could  hardly  have  been  perceived. 

Pearls  with  this  color  would  be  perfection.  Then 
the  round  white  fan,  dagger, — everything  ordered,  the 
measures  were  taken  in  the  inner  room  of  shelves,  a 
day  fixed  for  fitting,  and.  quivering  with  excitement 
and  delight,  Sybil  was  descending  the  house-steps, 
when  Jim  Roberts  came  up  to  Thrall,  and  looking 
rather  oddly  at  him — the  girl  thought — said :  "  The 
property-man  says  that  cloisonne-jar  you  made  such  a 
fuss  about  was  cared  for  by  the  Missus.  So,  if  you 
want  it  used,  give  me  her  key !  " 

There  was  a  sort  of  half-frightened  daring  in  the 
pale  face  of  Roberts,  and  the  look  of  sardonic  compre- 
hension burning  in  Thrall's  eyes  might  well  have 
shaken  the  nerves  of  such  a  poor  wreck  as  he  an- 
swered :  "  We  won't  trouble  about  the  cloisonne,  just 
now ;  but  I  understand  your  good  intention  in  follow- 
ing me  here  to  tell  me  about  it.  And — I — shall — re- 
member— it!  Oh,  here's  your  car,  Miss  Lawton; 
good-by ! " 


203 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
A  LOVER'S  PLEA 

With  all  her  gentleness,  Dorothy  Lawton  was  not 
without  spirit,  and  she  might  have  resented  the  un- 
authorized announcement  made  by  Leslie  Gait  had  she 
not  been  reduced  to  helpless  terror  by  the  prompt  re- 
appearance of  William  Henry  Bulkley,  pompously 
claiming  the  privilege  of  "  restoring  her  to  her  home 
and  her  parents." 

Trembling  like  a  leaf,  she  lifted  pleading  eyes  to 
Gait,  who,  reading  with  deep  gratitude  their  prayer, 
answered  it  by  turning  to  the  old  beau,  and  coldly  re- 
marking that  "  the  doctor  had  placed  his  carriage  at 
Miss  Lawton's  service,  and  together  they  were  about 
to  escort  her  home." 

"  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  sir !  "  blustered 
the  bombastic  William  Henry.  "  This  young  lady  was 
placed  under  my  care.  I  have  been  made  responsible 
for  her  safety;  therefore,  she  will  return  home  under 
my  escort,  sir !  " 

"  Safety  ?  "  sneered  Gait.  "  That  word  does  not 
come  gracefully  from  your  lips  !  Safety  ?  Your  utter 
irresponsibility  is  amply  illustrated  by  the  injuries 
Miss  Lawton  has  received  while  under  your  thought- 
ful care!" 

204 


A  Lover's  Plea 

"  Anyone,"  hotly  interrupted  Mr.  Bulkley,  "  anyone 
may  be  the  victim  of  an  act  of  Providence,  of — of  a 
catastrophe ! " 

"  Act  of  Providence !  "  cried  Gait ;  "  act  of  bad  tem- 
per— act  of  stupid  discourtesy !  No  man  has  the  right 
to  take  a  woman  out  behind  a  tricky  horse,  even  when 
he  exercises  every  caution  in  handling  him!  And  no 
one  but  a  madman  or  a  man  in  an  unspeakably  bad 
temper  would  think  of  leaving  a  woman  alone  and 
utterly  at  the  mercy  of  a  shying,  nervous  brute !  The 
wonder  is  that  we  have  been  spared  a  tragedy  to-day ! 
And  this  young  lady  can  scarcely  be  blamed  for  not 
wishing  to  trust  herself  to  such  doubtful  protection 
again ! " 

"  You  will  let  the  young  lady  speak  for  herself,  you 
young  upstart !  "  answered  the  now  furious  Mr.  Bulk- 
ley.  "  She  will  do  well  to  remember  she  is  still  in 
tutelage  to  her  parents,  and  that  by  a  parent  she  was 
given  to  my  care !  "  Then,  turning  to  the  girl,  he  went 
on :  "  I  have  obtained  a  buggy  from  the  livery  man,  and 
we  can  start  at  once !  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Bulkley,"  quavered  Dorothy,  "  I  can't !  I 
am  afraid  of  that  horse !  Please — please  don't  ask  me 
to  ride  behind  him  again !  " 

She  trembled  so  violently  that  the  doctor  interposed, 
saying,  curtly :  "  I  must  disallow  your  claim,  sir !  My 
patient's  nerves  are  to  be  considered,  and,  really,  though 
you  were  acting  as  the  young  lady's  escort  for  this  un- 
fortunate drive,  it  seems  to  me  her  fiance  is  the  proper 
person  to  look  after  her  now !  " 

William  Henry  Bulkley 's  eyes  stood  out  like  a  crab's. 
205 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

His  red  face  purpled.  He  breathed  in  loud  gasps. 
"  Her — her  what?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Her  fiance !  Who 
the  devil  are  you  talking  about  ?  She  has  no  fiance  !  " 

The  doctor  had  raised  Dorothy  and  given  her  his 
arm,  but  now  he  turned  in  astonishment  from  the 
white,  set  face  of  Gait  to  the  red  fury  of  Bulkley,  and 
back  again.  When,  with  a  little  tremulous  laugh, 
Dorothy,  with  surprised  blue  eyes,  said :  "  Why,  Mr. 
Bulkley,  were  you  not  told,  then  ?  Now,  had  you  been 
a  woman,"  she  held  out  her  hand,  the  third  finger  all 
brave  with  flashing  solitaire,  "  you  would  not  have 
needed  telling.  See  ?  " 

And  Leslie,  bending  to  draw  down  her  veil  and  hide 
the  wounded  cheek,  whispered :  "  Ah !  my  love !  my 
love!" 

And  then  they  were  in  the  doctor's  carriage  and  on 
the  way  to  Woodsedge,  while  William  Henry  Bulkley, 
in  a  black  devil's  rage,  followed. 

John  Lawton  had  returned  from  his  walk,  and,  as  a 
hen-mother  frets  over  her  ducklings  in  the  water,  so 
he  fretted  over  the  absence  of  both  his  girls.  He 
wandered  aimlessly  about,  instead  of  piling  up  the 
wood  in  the  shed,  as  he  had  intended  doing,  while  the 
lengthening  absence  of  Dorothy  filled  Mrs.  Lawton 
with  secret  satisfaction.  They  were  taking  a  drive, 
just  as  she  had  intended  they  should,  and  Mr.  Bulkley 
was  undoubtedly  making  the  most  of  his  opportunity. 
She  hoped  he  might  not  make  the  mistake  of  being 
too — too  impulsively  ardent.  "  Very  young  girls 
sometimes  take  alarm  so  easily !  "  she  thought.  "  And 
Dorrie  is  the  merest  baby  in  such  matters !  " 

206 


A  Lover's  Plea 

And  then  confusion  reigned,  when,  with  helpless 
arm,  bruised,  cut  face,  and  yet  such  curiously  shining 
eyes,  Dorothy,  who  had  gone  forth  with  Mr.  Bulkley, 
was  assisted  into  the  house  by  a  strange  doctor  and 
young  Gait.  Then  came  tender  greetings,  hurried 
footsteps,  and.  curt  explanations.  The  doctor,  aided 
by  the  temporarily  German-speaking  Lena,  whose 
fright  had  strangled  English  in  her  very  throat, 
was  attending  the  injured  girl  in  her  own  room. 
Letitia  was  weeping  hysterically,  and  John  Lawton,  the 
father,  was  struggling  hard  to  maintain  the  composure 
expected  of  Mr.  Lawton,  the  man.  For  the  calm  in- 
difference of  a  doctor's  attitude  toward  a  simple  fract- 
ure, especially  when  young  bones  are  in  question,  is 
rarely  emulated  by  anxious  relatives.  Even  within  the 
ordinary  family  circle  a  broken  limb  is  regarded  as  a 
serious  mishap;  but  in  this  abode  of  genteel  poverty, 
where  yet  there  was  such  wealth  of  family  love,  a 
daughter's  broken  arm  was  a  terrifying  disaster,  a 
grievous  catastrophe. 

Mrs.  Lawton  was  piteously  inquiring  of  heaven, 
which  she  seemingly  located  in  the  far  corner  of  the 
ceiling,  near  the  biggest  stain :  "  Why  had  she  permit- 
ted Sybil  to  leave  her  alone,  to  face  the  contretemps 
that  was  sure  to  occur  in  her  most  desolate  hour  ?  " 
ignoring  the  fact  that  her  "  desolate  hour  "  had  been 
carefully  contrived  by  herself. 

Gait,  catching  sight  of  Mr.  Lawton,  went  to  him, 
and,  taking  his  arm,  led  him  out  across  the  porch  and 
drive  down  to  the  great  old  willow,  whose  mighty 
drooping  made  a  gray  green  tent  of  privacy.  Then  he 

207 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

seated  him,  and,  taking  off  his  own  hat,  he  stood  be- 
fore the  older  man,  who,  though  looking  at  him  with 
anxious  eyes,  yet  noted  the  erect  figure,  the  clear  gaze, 
and  rather  stern,  well-featured  face,  and  thought  him  a 
goodly  sight. 
A  moment  of  silence,  then  Leslie  said,  slowly :  "  Mr. 

Lawton,   you   have   shown   me  great   kindness,   and 
j " 

The  old  man  held  up  his  hand,  saying,  with  quick 
deprecation :  "  No !  no !  Without  power,  one  can  show 
kindness  to  no  man !  I  like  you,  my  lad !  I  shall  be 
grateful  to  you  all  my  life,  but  I  have  done  you  no 
kindness !  " 

Leslie  moistened  his  lips  as  might  a  nervous  girl :  "  I 
— you — "  he  stammered,  then  went  on  eagerly — "  How 
well  do  you  like  me,  sir?  Well  enough  to  trust 
me  with — oh,  good  God !  "  he  cried,  "  what's  the  use 
of  beating  about  the  bush?  If  you  don't  know  it  al- 
ready, you  ought  to  know  that  I  love  your  daughter 
with  all  my  heart,  and — don't  look  at  me  like  that,  Mr. 
Lawton!  I  know  I  don't  deserve  her!  But — I'd  be 
true  to  her,  as  my  father  was  true  to  his  choice  before 
me!  If — if,  Dorothy  tells  you  that  she  wishes  it  so, 
will  you  then  give  her  to  me,  for  my  wife  ?  " 

Two  slow  tears  crept  into  the  pale  blue  eyes.  Again 
there  came  that  piteous,  silent  movement  of  the  lips, 
that  had  so  touched  Leslie  on  the  day  he  had  rescued 
the  girls  from  the  tunnel  accident. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Gait,  gently.  "  You  know  who 
I  am — who  my  father  was.  You  know  personally  one, 
at  least,  of  the  firm  of  Gordon,  Stone  &  Wheatleigh,  in 

208 


A  Lover's  Plea 

whose  offices  I  have  read  and  worked,  and  who  have 
promised — but  never  mind  that  now.  What  troubles 
you  so,  sir  ?  My  past  is  an  open  book  for  you.  Is  it  a 
question  of  age  ?  " 

John  Lawton  shook  his  head,  and  just  then  Mr. 
Bulkley  drove  through  the  farthest  gate  and  on  up  to 
the  house. 

They  paid  no  heed  to  that ;  Gait  went  on  questioning 
the  silent,  distressed,  old  man :  "  Is  it  that  you  cannot 
trust  me — that  you  doubt  the  sincerity  of  my  love  ?  " 
A  faint,  reproachful  smile  accompanied  a  second  shake 
of  the  head. 

"  Is  it "  started  Leslie. 

"  It's  poverty !  "  gasped  John  Lawton.  Then,  hav- 
ing regained  his  power  of  speech,  he  went  on :  "  Don't 
ask  me  to  condemn  my  girl  to  poverty  for  life.  Love 
sweetens  the  draught,  but  the  bitterness  is  there  all 
the  time !  Wait,  my  boy,  wait !  It  is  not  for  her  alone 
I  speak !  Spare  yourself  the  torment,  the  shame,  the 
pain  of  denying  to  the  woman  that  you  love  the  little 
fripperies  and  follies  and  small  luxuries  that  she 
craves  as  a  flower  craves  sunshine!  There's  no  pain 
like  it  in  the  world !  And,"  his  lips  writhed  as  he  spoke, 
"  I  ought  to  know,  for — for  ten  years  past  it  has  so 
pierced  my  heart  that  there  can  be  but  a  shapeless  pulp 
there  now!  No!  no!  you  can't  afford  to  marry  my 
daughter !  " 

"  It's  hard  to  think  of  you  as  a  lover  of  mammon — 
a  seeker  after  mere  wealth !  "  frowned  Leslie. 

"  Don't  be  unjust,  my  lad.  The  joy  of  counting 
one's  dollars  in  seven  figures  is  a  joy  without  savor  for 

209 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

me.  Very  great  wealth  is  either  a  great  trust  or  a 
greater  temptation.  I  neither  seek  for  nor  desire  it  for 
our  girls;  but  I  cannot  calmly  face  for  them  a  future 
of  such  poverty  as  they  are  enduring  now.  You 
should  be  able,  positively  able,  to  provide  at  least 
a  modest  home ;  be  able  to  make  both  of  these  inelastic 
ends  not  only  meet  but  lap  over  a  bit.  The  poor  work- 
ing-man has  a  right  to  marry  a  poor  girl,  but  a  poor 
gentleman  has  no  right  to  condemn  a  girl  with  the 
training,  tastes,  and  requirements  of  a  lady  to  a  life- 
long struggle  with  ways  and  means.  Then,  remember, 
when  a  man  marries  he  not  only  doubles  his  joys  but 
his  responsibilities  as  well.  Oh,  my  boy !  if  only  you 
had  a  few  thousands  in  hand — a  wall  to  plant  your 
back  against  if  the  fight  went  against  you  for  awhile ! 
But — but,  I  dare  not  give  my  child  into  empty  hands ! 
Why — why — boy?  What  in  heaven's  name?" 

Gait  was  flinging  his  hat  high  in  the  autumn  sun- 
light, catching  it  and  flinging  it  again,  like  a  boy  at 
boisterous  play !  Then,  with  dancing  eyes,  he  made 
apology  for  his  antics,  adding :  "  I  have  no  father,  as 
you  know.  So  I  think  I'll  follow  the  fashion  of  the 
Japanese  and  adopt  one !  "  taking  a  chill,  veiny  old 
hand  in  his  firm,  warm  ones.  "  You,  sir,  by  your  leave  ? 
So,  Father  Lawton,  listen !  I  have  not  deceived  you 
at  any  time,  but  I  may  have  been  a  trifle  more  reticent 
than  was  necessary,  for  I  hate  talking  of  myself.  But 
now  I'll  tell  you  what,  I  see,  should  have  been  told  be- 
fore, and,  when  I've  done,  I'll  ask  again  for  Dorothy ! 
No !  no !  adopted  father,  you  may  only  answer  yea  or 
nay  when  you  have  earned  the  right  by  listening !  " 

2X0 


A  Lover's  Plea 

And  just  then  both  men  fancied  they  heard  a  sort  of 
screech  from  the  house,  and  glanced  up  toward  it.  But 
old  John  said,  indifferently :  "  An  owl,  I  guess.  Lena 
disturbs  them  when  she's  rooting  about  that  tumbling 
barn  behind  the  cedars.  Go  on !  " 

But,  up  in  the  sitting-room,  William  Henry  Bulk- 
ley,  rampant  and  blindly  furious  while  charging  Mrs. 
Lawton  with  insincerity  and  bad  faith,  had  flung  the 
engagement  of  Dorothy  in  her  astonished  face,  and  it 
was  the  screech  of  the  stricken  Letitia  that  faintly 
reached  them.  But  Mr.  Lawton,  whose  mind  moved 
slowly,  and  who,  though  undoubtedly  American,  was 
yet  no  "  guesser,"  being  all  at  sea  as  to  the  meaning  of 
Gait's  sudden  change  from  bitter  disappointment  to  an 
exuberance  of  spirits  he  had  not  thought  the  grave 
young  man  capable  of,  repeated,  more  urgently :  "  Go 
on,  please,  go  on !  " 

And,  in  the  handsome  weak  old  face  and  piteous 
faded  eyes  raised  to  him,  Gait  saw  again  the  likeness 
to  Dorothy,  and,  with  a  pang,  he  thought :  "  This  is 
what  years  of  sorrow  and  privation  might  put  into  her 
fair  face,"  and  swiftly  prayed,  "  protect,  defend  her, 
Lord,  in  part  at  least,  through  my  poor  human 
agency,"  and  then  plunged  into  the  simple  story,  whose 
telling  might  change  the  color  of  the  sky  for  him  and 
make  the  old  world  new  for  his  young  sweetheart  and 
himself. 

"  You  remember,  sir,  I  told  you  before,  that  it  was 
through  Mr.  Wheatleigh's  friendship  for  my  dead 
father  that  I  was  first  taken  into  the  office  where  so 
many  wished  to  secure  a  berth.  He  advanced  me, 

211 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

too,  as  rapidly  as  he  could,  because  he  knew  the  mother 
I  worked  so  hard  for  would  not  be  with  me  long. 
Well,  the  only  property  my  father  left  me,  besides  a 
small  cottage,  was  an  extensive  sweep  of  swamp,  over 
in  our  neighboring  State.  This  inheritance  was  con- 
sidered a  great  jest,  and  was  continually  referred  to 
as  my  '  mosquito  foundry.'  The  only  harvest  ever 
gathered  from  its  acres  was  a  harvest  of  poor  and 
pointless  jokes.  My  mother  and  I  used  to  spend  two 
or  three  months  in  the  cottage  during  the  summer,  and 
the  rest  of  the  year  an  old  couple  used  it  rent  free,  save 
for  keeping  the  small  shell  in  repair.  That  my  father 
had  twice  refused,  when  the  neighboring  town  was 
making  spasmodic  spurts  of  growth,  to  sell  portions 
of  his  swampy  holdings,  made  people  think  him  quite 
off  his  head.  But  my  mother  told  me  he  had  once  de- 
clared the  time  would  come  when  thousands  of  dollars 
would  be  offered  eagerly  where  hundreds  were  then 
spoken  of  grudgingly.  She  had  said,  '  Why,  do  you 
believe  these  swamps  can  ever  be  made  healthy  enough 
to  attract  the  wealthy  ? '  and  he  had  answered,  '  My 
dear  wife,  wealthy  people  often  have  other  uses  for 
property  than  the  making  of  homes.  Nor  do  I  antici- 
pate a  sudden  fad  among  millionnaires  for  personally 
cultivating  cranberries.  Nevertheless,  there's  money 
lying  in  those  mud-flats  and  out  there  in  the  meadows 
— money  waiting  for  a  Gait ;  and  if  we  don't  gather  it 
up,  Leslie  will.' 

"  Every  word,"  the  young  man  continued,  "  I  treas- 
ured, and  while  I  was  yet  a  lad  I  used  to  rack  my 
brain  to  find  a  cause  for  my  father's  faith,  and  though 

212 


A  Lover's  Plea 

I  found  it  not  I  yet  resolved  to  follow  his  plan  and — 
wait.  So  silently,  tenaciously  I  kept  my  hold  upon 
my  '  mosquito  foundry,'  and  endured  many  things  in 
the  name  of  wit  from  my  companions,  who  sought  in- 
formation as  to  proper  '  treatment  of  stings,'  as  to  the 
usual  period  '  for  mating  among  the  young  birds,'  as 
to  the  '  outlook  for  cranberries,'  etc.  As  years  went  by 
the  subject  dropped,  thank  heaven !  I  had  worked  des- 
perately for  my  mother's  needs.  Then — well,  when  I 
found  myself  alone,  I  worked  desperately  still,  to  prove 
to  Mr.  Wheatleigh  that  I  was  grateful.  The  firm  no- 
ticed me.  They  tested  my  discretion.  Then  one  day 
old  Mr.  Gordon  said  to  Mr.  Stone :  '  A  young  fellow 
who  can  so  lock  his  lips  and  give  the  combination  to 
no  one  is  wanted  in  this  office  for  confidential  work.' 
It  was  a  big  step  they  offered  me,  and — and,  Father 
Lawton,  I  did  not  have  a  soul  to  rejoice  with  me  or 
say  '  well  done ! '  I  was  so  desolately  alone  in  my  good 
fortune  that  when  I  locked  my  room  door  behind  me 
I  buried  my  face  in  my  mother's  old  crepe  shawl,  and 
talked  to  it,  and  yet,"  he  laughed  a  little,  "  upon  my 
soul  I  quite  expect  people  to  consider  me  a  man ! 

"  Well,  one  day  I  was  mildly  surprised  to  receive  a 
letter  making  an  offer  for  a  small  portion  of  my  land. 
The  price  was  modest — I  declined  it,  briefly.  But  be- 
fore I  had  mailed  my  note  another  letter  and  another 
offer  to  purchase  reached  me.  I  declined  both,  and 
dropped  the  matter  from  my  mind,  when  lo !  my  corre- 
spondents renewed  their  efforts  to  buy,  doubling  the 
price  first  offered,  at  a  single  bound.  I  had  heard  of 
no  boom  in  town  lots — no  sudden  growth  outward  in 

213 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

my  direction,  yet  both  letters  expressly  stated  that 
'  simple  cottage  homes  were  to  be  built.'  Homes  out 
there  on  those  dreary  flats?  Builders  of  simple  cot- 
tages were  rarely  able  to  double  an  offered  price  for 
the  ground  alone.  I  astonished  Mr.  Wheatleigh  by 
asking  for  half  a  day's  absence.  The  old  pair  at  the 
cottage  could  only  tell  me  that  two  or  three  of  the 
widely  scattered  residents  had  recently  sold  out  and 
all  but  one  had  gone  away.  These  people  had  lived 
along  the  river.  I  walked  out  in  that  direction,  and 
stopped  at  the  small  truck  garden,  that  had  been  sold 
but  was  not  yet  vacated.  I  questioned  the  woman — 
a  dull  creature — from  whom  I  gained  no  information 
beyond  her  joy  at  going  to  live  in  the  town.  Her  lit- 
tle girl  was  teasing  for  a  penny  to  spend  for  that 
childish  solace — gum.  Being  refused,  I  told  her  if  she 
would  walk  along  with  me  for  company  I  would  give 
her  a  nickel;  I  paid  in  advance,  and  we  went  out  to- 
gether. She  was  a  sharp  little  monkey,  as  keen  as  her 
mother  was  dull.  Inquiring  about  what  had  been  go- 
ing on,  I  learned  of  the  advent  of  six  puppies  down  the 
road  a  bit ;  of  the  lamentable  fate  of  old  Tom  Hale,  a 
local  ne'er-do-weel,  and  also  of  the  presence  of  the 
'  queer  men,'  who  used  to  get  dinner  at  her  house. 
'  Why  were  they  queer  ? '  '  Why,  because  they  did 
funny  things,  and  were  squintin'  along  the  road  and 
across  the  meadows.'  '  Squinting  ? '  I  repeated. 
'  Yes,'  she  explained ; '  they  had  three  wooden  legs,  that 
had  a  funny  brass  and  glass  fixin'  on  top,  that  they 
squinched  through,  and  then  they'd  make  marks  in 
books  and  stick  sticks  in  the  ground.'  Surveyors,  I 
214 


A  Lover's  Plea 

thought.    '  And,'  went  on  the  child,  '  they  used  to  say, 
before  they  came  into  dinner,  "  don't  talk !  " 

"  Ah !  I  pricked  up  my  ears !  Surveyors  doing 
work  that  was  not  to  be  talked  of.  I  dropped  another 
nickel  into  the  child's  hand.  '  Tell  me,'  I  asked,  '  what 
the  funny  men  said  outside  the  house,  when  they  were 
squinting  through  the  meadows.'  The  child's  face 
clouded.  '  They  didn't  say  nothin' !  Must  I  give  back 
the  nickel  now  ? '  '  Oh,'  I  urged,  '  they  must  have 
talked  among  themselves,  and  you  must  have  heard  a 
word  now  and  then,  when  you  were  watching  them  or 
playing.  Come,  think  a  bit !  Perhaps  I  have  another 
nickel.'  Her  eyes  shone — she  knit  her  brows  and  bit 
her  lips.  '  Well,'  she  said,  doubtfully,  '  I  'spose  just 
words  without  no  sense  to  'em  ain't  no  use  ?  But  they 
did  use  to  say  things  about  "  the  shops,"  and  they  said, 
too,  "  beds  "  many  times.'  '  Beds  ?  '  I  repeated.  '  Are 
you  sure  ? '  '  Yes,  beds,  'cause  I  thought  it  was  a 
funny  thing  for  a  man  to  say !  And — oh,  yes !  Once, 
over  by  that  mud  flat,  they  said  that  their  "  beds  " 
would  cost  lots  of  money,  and  one  man  said  they  might 
be  glad  there  wasn't  snakes  here  to  cost  more.  And  I 
told  'em  there  was  snakes  in  some  places,  and  they 
laughed  at  me,  they  did.'  I  caught  her  hand,  and  said : 
'  Lou,  think  again.  Did  not  the  men  talk  of  "  road- 
beds "  ? '  I  held  my  breath  till  the  answer  came. 
'  Well,  my  ma  says  I'm  a  fool,  and  I  guess  I  am.  That 
is  just  the  kind  of  beds  they  said,  "  road-beds."  '  '  Oh, 
thank  you,  thank  you ! '  I  replied,  for,  like  a  cheap  mod- 
ern god,  I  showered  my  small  Danae,  not  with  gold, 
but  with  nickels  and  with  dimes. 

215 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

"  I  understood  at  last  the  possible  value  of  my  prop- 
erty. Mosquito  stock  went  up !  This  child  had  given 
me  the  clew  to  what  was  going  on.  At  once  I  laid  the 
facts  before  Mr.  Wheatleigh.  He  chuckled.  '  Leave 
this  matter  with  us,  my  boy.  Railroads  are  bulldozers ! 
They  pay  low  to  the  poor,  but  high  to  the  rich  and 
strong.  If  this  thing  works  out  as  it  should,  and  you 
should  care  to  enter  our  firm  as  its  youngest  member 
in,  say  another  year,  I  think  it  can  be  arranged.'  Well, 
Father  Lawton,  it  has  been  arranged,  and  the  day  that 
made  me  independent  of  money  worries  was  the  very 
day  of  the  railroad  accident  in  the  tunnel.  And  as  the 
crash  came  I  was  looking  at  Dorothy  with  all  my 
heart  in  my  eyes,  for  I  had  seen  her  twice  before,  and 
I  knew  quite  well  that  I  loved  her,  and  that  I  should 
marry  her,  if  we  both  lived  long  enough.  You,  sir, 
can  have  full  details  of  my  financial  situation  when- 
ever you  may  desire.  'Tis  true  I  have  no  splendor  to 
offer.  My  only  Aladdin's  lamp  is  the  partnership,  but 
in  such  a  firm  that  means  rare  opportunity,  and  good 
work  brings  good  pay.  But  even  Aladdin  had  to  rub 
his  lamp  before  his  wish  was  granted.  So,  never  doubt 
my  willingness  to  rub  ray  lamp  hard.  I  may  not 
promise  both  town  and  country  houses;  and  butler, 
coachman,  and  groom  may  be  conspicuous  by  their  ab- 
sence— just  at  first.  But  a  home,  a  pretty  one  of  her 
very  own,  a  few  maids  inside,  a  man  to  potter  about  a 
bit  of  lawn,  and  a  jewel-box  not  quite  empty — so  much 
I  can  safely  and  reasonably  promise  to  my  wife,  if  you 
will  trust  your  little  girl  to  my  honor  and  my  love! 


A  Lover's  Plea 

Once  more,  Mr.  Lawton,  will  you  give  me  your  daugh- 
ter Dorothy  for  wife  ?  " 

Lawton  closed  his  eyes,  and  in  that  moment  he  re- 
called the  day  when  she  was  gurgling  on  his  clasping 
arm,  the  yellow,  downy  covering  of  her  baby  head  so 
like  a  wee  new  chick's  coat  that  he  had  laughed,  and 
when,  at  the  sound,  her  blue  eyes  opened  wide  at  him, 
and  with  a  thrill  he  noted  her  likeness  to  himself. 
Then,  half  proud,  half  pitiful,  he  had  kissed  her  many 
times — why!  that  was  only  yesterday — surely  but  lit- 
tle more !  Yet,  here  was  this  man,  almost  a  stranger, 
asking  her  for  his  wife.  He  opened  his  eyes,  and 
asked,  piteously :  "  D-o-e-s,  does  Dorrie  wish  this  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  will  tell  you  so,  sir,"  Leslie  answered, 
gently. 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  Leti — to  Mrs.  Lawton  ?  " 

"  N-no,  sir,"  said  the  young  man.  "  I — I  thought 
I  should  speak  first  to  you." 

"  Dear  me !  I'm  afraid  you've  made  a  mistake,  my 
boy,"  murmured  the  old  man,  innocently.  "  Letitia 
thinks  that,  in  the  case  of  daughters,  you  understand, 
the  mother  is  in  authority — is  the  head,  so  to  speak — 
of  the  family.  You — er,  you  should  have  spoken  to 
her,  but — now " 

"  Yes,  sir,  now  ?  "  eagerly  repeated  Gait. 

The  old  man  rose.  He  held  out  his  hand,  which  the 
younger  man  grasped  tightly.  "  I  believe  you  are  an 
honest  man,  and  since  you  have  the  power  to  care  for 
and  protect  her  I  give  you  my  Dorothy,  than  whom  a 
truer,  sweeter,  purer  girl  God  never  gave  to  undeserv- 
ing father  or  adoring  lover !  " 

217 


A  Pasteboard  Crown^ 

The  two  men  stood  eye  to  eye  a  long  moment,  then 
Leslie  Gait  said,  slowly :  "  Thank  you,  sir ! "  dropped 
Lawton's  hand,  and,  turning,  walked  rapidly  away, 
leaving  the  shaken,  excited,  and  confused  old  man  in 
his  gray  green  tent,  trying  to  straighten  things  out  and 
prepare  himself  for  the  meeting  with  his  Letitia. 


218 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  FAMILY  SCENE 

While  Mr.  Lawton  still  strove  to  regain  his  self- 
control  he  saw,  passing  out  through  the  further  gate, 
the  big  chestnut,  the  battered  looking  livery  buggy, 
and  the  gorgeous  William  Henry  Bulkley,  whose 
cowed,  dispirited  "  man  "  was  driving,  while  he — 
W.  H. — gave  himself  the  pleasure  of  vigorously  damn- 
ing the  entire  outfit,  individually  and  collectively.  A 
little  later  the  doctor  drove  his  lightly  built,  dark  bays 
out — full  sisters  they  were,  with  faces  so  kind  and 
manners  so  gentle  as  always  to  suggest  a  pair  of  nurses. 
After  that  John  Lawton  thought  he  might  then  go  up 
to  the  house  and  get  a  quiet  peep  at  Dorothy,  whose 
face  he  half  expected  to  see  changed  somehow  since 
she  had  given  him  her  morning  kiss.  "  She  had  been 
a  child  then,  and  now,  yes  now,  she  was  a  woman." 
He  did  not  realize  that  the  sudden  change  had  been 
but  in  his  point  of  view. 

Walking  slowly  up  the  steep  rise  to  the  porch,  he 
thought  he  heard  high  voices,  and,  opening  the  door, 
he  stood  amazed.  Looking  up,  where  at  the  stair-top 
German  Lena  stood,  one  outstretched  hand  against  the 
wall,  the  other  on  the  bannister,  both  feet  braced  firm 
and  wide  apart,  her  small  blue  eyes  a-light,  a  girl  on 

219 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

guard!  And  just  beneath  her,  hair  disarranged,  face 
crimson,  and  eyes  snapping,  Mrs.  Lawton,  in  high, 
piercing  tones,  was  spitting  and  hissing  abusive  epi- 
thets : 

"You!  how  dare  you?  You  German  steerage  rat! 
You  stupid  wooden-headed,  wooden-shod  thing!  How 
dare  you — dare  you !  In  my  days  of  wealth,  my  house- 
keeper, my  cook,  wouldn't  have  allowed  you  to  care 
for  my  pots  and  pans !  My  daughter's  nothing  to  you ! 
I  can  say  what  I  please  to  her,  and  say  it  how  I  please ! 
How  dare  you  interfere!  You  shall  feel  the  law  for 
your  Dutch  insolence!  Stand  aside,  and  let  me  into 
that  room ! " 

"Nein!  nein!"  said  Lena,  savagely.  "  Nein!  I 
don't  stand  on  my  sides!  I  make  by  Herr  Doctor's 
orders,  und  I  keep  my  Miss  Lady  quiet  uf  I  can !  " 
Then,  catching  sight  of  John  Lawton,  she  cried :  "  Oh, 
my  Herr  Mister!  is  dat  you?  Oh,  you  vas  velcome 
as  never  vas !  " 

"  John  Lawton ! "  cried  Mrs.  Lawton,  at  the  same 
time,  "  if  you  have  one  spark  of  manhood  in  you,  if 
you  even  dimly  remember  your  promise  to  protect  and 
cherish  me,  you  will  order  this  crazy  Dutch  slattern 
to  the  scullery !  " 

"  Letitia !  Letitia !  "  remonstrated  the  mortified  and 
bewildered  man,  "  come  away,  I  beg  of  you,  and  ex- 
plain quietly  what  has  happened." 

But  a  perfect  shriek  of  rage  leapt  from  the  woman's 
throat :  "  What  has  happened  ?  Do  you  know,  that 
thing  there  has  struck  me — me — a  lady !  " 

"  Nein !  nein !  "  stoutly  protested  Lena,  "  I  don't 
220 


A  Family  Scene 


strike  nobodys,  my  Herr  Mister!  She  com'  mad  by 
me!  for  dat — dat  doctor  mans — ven  he  have  put  der 
sticks  und  shplinters  on  der  Miss  Lady's  arm,  dat  com' 
got  break  by  der  Bergamots  man,  he  com'  say  dat  I 
must  make  for  der  quiet!  Und  two  time  he  tell  me 
dot !  He  say  she  make  of  der  fever  rite  avay  quick  uf 
she  com'  get  excite!  und  nobody  shall  com'  by  her, 
for  much  talk !  Und  I  shall  vatch  until  der  odder  vun, 
der  Miss  Sybells  com',  und  take  care  by  her !  Und — 
und — I  tell  you  true  now,  Herr  Boss,  he  say  der  mutter 
downstair  seem  very  hy-strikle  like,  und  not  fit  to  com' 
by  der  sickroom !  Und  den  he  go  und  der  Frau  Mis- 
tress, she  com'  fly  in  der  room,  und  she  com'  mad  like 
a  vitch!  Und  she  say  some  tings  at  my  Miss  Lady 
'  how  she  dare  do  sometings  ?  '  Und  my  Miss  Lady, 
she  com'  vite,  com'  red,  und  begin  shake !  Und  I  say, 
'  Blease  for  go ! '  Und  she  say,  '  Miss  Doroty  is  a 
God-f  orsakens  simpletons ! '  und  I  say  vonce  more, 
'  Blease ! '  und — und  den  I  don't  strike,  I  don't  shuf 
der  Frau  Mistress,  I  youst  pick  her  round  by  der  waist, 
und  I  histe  her  out  of  der  room !  Und  she  shmack  me 
on  der  cheek  und  try  to  come  by  der  room  again! 
Und  I  lock  der  door,  und  now  I  stand  here  und  keep 
my  Miss  Lady  quiet,  youst  so  long  as  I  have  der  legs 
toshtandby!  Ja!  So!" 

The  old  man's  face  was  a  study  of  pained  bewilder- 
ment. He  slowly  ascended  the  stairs,  and  taking  by 
the  arm  the  dishevelled  creature,  in  whom  it  was  hard 
for  him  to  recognize  his  wife,  he  said :  "  Come  to  your 
room,  Letitia.  You  will  bring  upon  yourself  an  attack 
of  nerves  if  this  continues.  You  need  some  drops." 

221 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

And  the  innocently  spoken  words  wrung  a  cry  of  rage 
from  the  woman,  as  she  recalled  how,  downstairs,  a 
few  minutes  before,  William  Henry  Bulkley  had  hurled 
the  bottle  across  the  room  to  the  sofa,  with  the  cour- 
teous words :  "  There's  your  damned  old  drops ! 
Much  good  they've  done  us,  haven't  they !  " 

"  Come !  "  continued  John.  Then,  looking  back,  he 
added  to  Lena:  "Open  Miss  Dorothy's  door  and  tell 
her  '  my  love '  and  I'll  be  with  her  directly,  and  will 
read  a  little  out  of  Sybbie's  play  to  her  while  you  get 
tea  ready." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  Mrs.  Lawton.  "When 
you  hear  of  her  outrageous  conduct  it  will  be  a  lecture, 
not  Sybil's  play,  that  you  will  read!  Anything,  any- 
thing but  slyness  in  a  girl !  " 

"Letitia!"  The  tone  rather  startled  the  angry 
woman.  She  allowed  herself  to  be  led  into  her  room, 
where  John  filled  the  basin  with  water,  added  a  little 
cologne,  and  opened  out  a  fresh  towel  ready  for  use. 
For  though  Letitia  had  had  no  maid  for  years  past, 
she  had  not  been  without  trained  service.  Now,  how- 
ever, she  could  not  put  aside  her  grievance  even  to  lave 
her  burning  face.  She  went  on :  "  Never  have  I  been 
so — so  discredited,  so  lowered,  so  belittled !  One  does 
not  often  meet  two  such  hypocrites  on  the  same  day ! 
She,  with  her  pretended  coyness  and  shyness!  That 
any  child  of  mine  should  be  capable  of  such  deception, 
such  concealment ! " 

"  My  dear !  my  dear !  "  interrupted  John  Lawton, 
"  you  are  not  stopping  to  consider  the  force  of  your 
words.  There  has  been  no  deception,  no  conceal- 

222 


A  Family  Scene 


ment.  Our  young  people  have  been  learning  to  love 
each  other,  wife,  and  we  were  too  blind  to  see  what 
was  going  on." 

"  W-why !  w-why !  do  you  know  about  it  ?  "  sur- 
prisedly  questioned  Mrs.  Lawton.  "  Did  Mr.  Bulk- 
ley  tell  you,  too,  before  he  drove  away  ?  " 

"Mr.  Bulkley?"  frowned  Lawton,  "I  don't  see 
what  on  earth  Mr.  Bulkley  has  to  do  with  our  affairs. 
Besides,  he  has  been  most  unpleasant  in  his  manner 
toward  Leslie  Gait." 

"  It's  a  pity  that  we  have  not  followed  his  example 
— the  young  hypocrite !  with  his  suave  tone  and  un- 
derhand conduct ! " 

"  No !  no !  "  interrupted  Lawton,  "  there  has  been 
nothing  underhand  in  Leslie  Gait's  conduct.  He 
loves  Dorothy;  there's  no  crime  in  that,  surely,  and 
he  has  come  like  a  man  and  asked  for  her,  and " 

"  And  you !  Have  you  presumed  to  encourage 
that  mere  salaried  clerk  to  hope  to  marry  a  Lawton? 
Understand  this,  if  any  child  of  mine  ever  went  to  live 
in  a  flat,  I  would  not  recognize  her  though  she  lay 
upon  her  death-bed !  To  be  dragged  down  to  pov- 
erty by  another  [the  old  man  winced]  is  no  crime, 
but  to  deliberately  choose  poverty  is  a  vulgarity  that 
is  worse  than  crime !  You  will  forbid  this  thing  at 
once !  What — love  ?  They  love  each  other  ?  Bah ! 
He's  got  a  straight,  flat  back  and  good  teeth  and  eyes 
— will  they  make  up  for  a  shabby  wardrobe  and  no 
visiting  list?  Love?  Love  in  poverty  is  an  impos- 
sibility !  I  ought  to  know  by  this  time !  "  she  sneered, 
bitterly.  "  I've  had  plenty  of  opportunity  for  experi- 

223 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

meriting!"  Without  noticing  the  quivering  of  her 
husband's  chin  and  mouth,  she  went  on :  "  She's  mad 
or  a  fool  to  throw  away  money  and  position  for  some 
hole-in-a-corner  existence  with  a  good-looking  law- 
yer's clerk ! " 

"  Letitia,"  broke  in  her  husband  very  gently,  "  I 
don't  just  know  what  you  mean,  my  dear,  but  I  sup- 
pose you  are  speaking  figuratively  of  money  and  po- 
sition ;  but  if  you  will  let  me  explain  all  about  young 
Gait's  present  standing  and  his  future  prospects,  I 
think  you  will  yourself  sanction  an  engagement." 

"  The  prospects  of  a  mere  clerk ! "  she  jeered. 
"  What  a  poor-spirited,  broken  thing  you  have  be- 
come, calmly  permitting  one  daughter  to  go  upon 
the  public  stage,  and  giving  the  other  to  the  first  pov- 
erty-stricken applicant  that  asks  for  her!  No!  I'm 
not  speaking  figuratively  of  money  and  position ! 
They  are  within  her  reach,  and  she  shall  accept  them  ! 
She  has  no  right  to  keep  me  in  poverty,  because  she 
prefers  it  for  herself!  The  time  will  come  when  she 
will  thank  me  for  my  interference — that  is,  if  she  has 
not  driven  the  man  off  forever !  Perhaps  even  I  may 
not  be  able  to  whistle  back  a  Mr.  Bulkley,  once  he  is 
gone ! " 

"  My  God! "  the  words  came  in  a  sort  of  choking 
gasp.  The  man's  pale  eyes  stared  at  her  with  a  sort 
of  questioning  horror.  "  You  do  not  mean — you 
can  not  mean?" 

"  I  mean,"  recklessly  responded  the  woman,  "  that 
with  a  few  smiles  and  half  promises  from  Dorothy  and 
a  little  veiled  management  on  my  part,  her  well- 

224 


A  Family  Scene 


ringed  fingers  might  this  moment  be  holding  the 
strings  of  the  Bulkley  purse ! " 

"  She  must  be  mad ! "  interjected  the  trembling 
voice  of  the  husband,  as  if  thinking  aloud.  "  It  is  a 
charity  to  believe  her  mad !  " 

"  Then  I'm  mad  from  disappointment  and  wasted 
effort.  Any  opportunity  is  thrown  away  upon  you! 
And  Sybil  hated  him  and  opposed  me  at  every  turn ! 
Yet  with  a  little  more  time  my  finesse  would  have 
brought  William  Henry  Bulkley  to  the  point  of 
marrying  Dorothy ! " 

"Damnation!  "  cried  John  Lawton,  as  he  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  stood  a  hard,  breathing  moment,  holding 
fast  to  the  corner  of  the  dressing-table  for  support. 
His  pale  eyes  shone  with  the  phosphorescent  glare 
of  the  angry  cat.  His  long  fingers  opened  and  closed 
convulsively.  For  the  first  time  in  all  her  life,  Le- 
titia  saw  danger  in  him. 

"  You — are — an — infamous  woman !  "  The  words 
came  slowly  and  with  effort  from  his  tremulous  lips. 
"  You  have  forgotten  your  motherhood,  your  woman- 
hood !  But  you  never  forget  the  sweetly  spicy  savor 
of  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt !  No ! "  he  cried  with  in- 
creasing anger,  "  nor  have  you  forgotten  the  nature, 
the  gross  brutality,  of  this  man,  who  has  control  of 
the  flesh-pots  you  still  dream  of!  You  have  not  for- 
gotten either  the  long,  slow  dying  of  his  faithful  wife, 
whom  he  crowned  with  public  infamies !  And  since 
that  time  you  know,  as  all  people  know,  he  has  been 
one  of  the  mightiest  in  a  very  sink  of  iniquity — know 
him  to  be  a  walking  danger  to  unprotected  innocence 

225 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

and  a  vainglorious  '  friend  '  of  fashionable  vice !  Yet 
to  this  immorality  add  an  uncontrollably  violent  tem- 
per, impaired  health,  and  a  grandfather's  years;  and 
for  a  few  fripperies  and  gew-gaws,  a  wrap  or  two  of 
fur  and  velvet  for  the  satisfaction  of  your  vanity,  you 
would  fling,  without  a  thought  of  her  pure  soul's  fate 
• — fling  the  white,  sweet  body  of  your  innocent  child 
into  his  foul  embrace,  relying  on  the  name  of  wife  to 
cover  the  iniquity !  Dorothy,  my  little  white-souled 
woman-child,  and  Bulkley?  I — I  wonder — I  don't 
kill  you,  Letitia !  " 

He  advanced  toward  her  so  fiercely  that  she  shrank 
back,  crying  out  in  terror:  "John!  John!  don't  hurt 
me!" 

"Why  not?"  he  asked,  savagely.  "Why  not? 
Do  you  know  what  you  have  done  for  me?  You 
have  dragged  down  the  woman  I  have  loved  and  hon- 
ored as  my  wife — down,  down  to  within  one  step  of 
being  a  procu !  " 

Her  sharp  scream  of  shame  and  terror  cut  across 
the  hideous  word. 

"  No,  I  won't  hurt  you ;  but  oh,  God !  oh,  God !  to 
wake  and  find  the  wife  you  have  pillowed  on  your 
breast  for  twenty  years  is,  after  all,  a  stranger  to  you ! 
That  hurts !— yes,  that  hurts !  " 

He  passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  then  he  said, 
sternly :  "  Never  bring  that  man  into  Dorothy's  pres- 
ence again — I  forbid  it !  Yes,  I  told  you  you  would 
make  yourself  ill !  " 

But  as  she  lapsed  into  a  faint  she  was  dimly  con- 
scious that  John  was  leaving  the  room.  She  had 

226 


A  Family  Scene 


gone  too  far — her  slave  had  rebelled  for  once.  He 
who  always  had  waited  upon  her  himself  in  her 
previous  attacks,  now  called  on  Lena  to  attend  her 
and  get  her  to  bed,  while  he  went  to  Dorothy's  room 
and  kissed  and  blessed  her  and  made  her  very  soul 
sing  for  joy,  because  he  praised  her  beloved. 

And  in  the  silence,  when  his  cheek  rested  on  her 
piled-up  sunny  hair,  she  did  not  know  of  the  bitter 
tears  creeping  down  his  face — tears  of  disapppoint- 
ment  and  sorrow,  because  he  had  that  day  learned 
that  the  wife  he  believed  to  be  but  frivolous  was  in 
truth  a  personified  selfishness. 


227 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  PROFESSIONAL  LESSON 

Sybil,  hurried  by  a  message  from  Leslie  Gait,  had 
come  flying  back  from  the  city  to  the  aid  of  her  in- 
jured sister;  and,  as  she  dropped  upon  her  knees 
beside  the  bed,  she  cried,  breathlessly:  "Oh,  Dorrie! 
what  an  unfortunate,  lucky,  lucky  girl  you  are !  " — a 
bull  that  scattered  threatening  tears  and  set  them 
both  laughing. 

As  Sybil  tossed  off  her  street  garments  and  pre- 
pared to  make  Dorothy  more  comfortable,  she  said, 
heedlessly :  "  No  wonder  you  believe  so  in  your  God, 
when  He  never  fails  to  save  you  from  danger.  Let 
me  put  myself  behind  a  vicious,  bolting  brute  of  a 
horse,  and  the  Supreme  Power  would  leave  me  to  the 
broken  neck  appropriate  to  the  situation ;  and  a  good 
diamond  and  a  lover  saved  for — why !  why !  silly  girl ! 
I  meant  no  harm !  Did  I  say  something  irreverent  ? 
Oh,  don't  you  understand?  My  heart's  so  full  of 
gratitude  for  your  safety,  dear,  that  my  head  is  turn- 
ing a  bit  silly.  You  would  trust  Him  anyway?  Of 
course  you  would,  you  loyal  little  Christian !  I  have 
known  your  prayers  unanswered  many  a  long  month, 
and  that  you  thought  the  fault  was  somehow  yours. 
You  are  one  of  those  wonderful  beings  who  could 
228 


A  Professional  Lesson 

wring  joy  out  of  sorrow,  believing  that  '  whom  God 
loveth,  He  chasteneth  ' !  I  am  not  saint  enough  for 
that,  but  at  this  moment  my  very  heart  is  beating  out 
the  triumphant  old  Doxology,  '  Praise  God  from 
whom  all  blessings  flow ! '  because  you  were  not 
killed  yesterday;  but  are  here  at  home  only  a  little 
chipped  and  scratched,  and  because  you  have  a  prom- 
ised husband  and  I  have  a  strapping  big-promised 
brother.  And  I  do  pray,  I  honestly  do!  on  my  knees, 
dear !  that  God  will  bless  you  both,  and  so  renew  your 
love  each  day  that  it  may  never  grow  old.  And 
there's  a  kiss  for  you  [kissing  her  on  the  lips],  and 
here's  a  kiss  for  him  [kissing  Dorothy's  cheek],  and, 
ah !  you  simpleton — you — you  boiled  beet !  Oh,  why 
have  you  an  arm  in  splints?  To  blush  so  idiotically 
before  just  me!  Oh,  what  joy  it  would  be  to  pound 
you  with  a  pillow !  But  sit  up  instead,  and  let  me 
brush  that  tangled  hair.  The  idea  of  poor  papa  try- 
ing to  arrange  it  for  the  night,  and  yet  his  efforts  were 
to  be  preferred  to  Lena's.  Now,  miss,  while  I  am 
engaged  behind  you  with  the  brush,  you  may  proceed 
to  explain  how  it  feels  to  wear  a  solitaire — such  a  soli- 
tary solitaire !  Poor  little  ringless-fingers  girl !  And 
you  may  also  throw  some  light  upon  the  feelings  of 
a  young  person  who  engages  herself  to  be  married 
over  her  elder  sister's  head." 

But  Dorothy  had  groaned  a  little  from  pain,  and 
Sybil  silenced  her  teasing  tongue,  made  Dorothy  all 
orderly  and  comfortable,  cast  hemp-seed  recklessly 
before  noisy  Dick  to  buy  his  quiet ;  and  then,  seating 
herself  by  the  bed,  was  studying  Juliet's  lines  while 

229 


A   Pasteboard  Crown 

Dorothy  dozed,  until  awakened  by  the  arrival  of  a 
big  bunch  of  flowers  and  a  note. 

For  several  days  there  seemed  to  be  an  odd  con- 
straint upon  the  household.  John  Lawton,  always 
rather  silent,  now  became  fairly  dumb.  He  never 
entered  the  sitting-room,  but  remained  out  of  doors 
nearly  all  the  time. 

Mrs.  Lawton  looked  heavy-eyed  and  nervous,  and 
evidently  greatly  missed  Dorothy's  care  and  gentle 
coddling.  Lena  she  had  attempted  to  ignore;  but, 
alas,  she  depended  too  utterly  upon  that  sole  servitor 
for  food  and  drink  and  warmth  and  order.  So  she 
had  to  content  herself  with  giving  commands  in  a 
very  cold  voice,  using  very  large  words,  and  averting 
her  face  during  their  delivery.  Her  manner  during 
her  short  visits  to  the  girls'  room  was  one  of  poorly 
restrained  anger.  She  had  not  seen  Dorothy  alone 
since  her  attempted  lecture  on  the  day  of  the  acci- 
dent; and,  as  John  Lawton  had  never  resumed  the 
interrupted  subject  of  the  hated  engagement,  she  re- 
mained uninformed  as  to  Leslie  Gait's  bright  pros- 
pects until  that  day  when,  with  nerve  worthy  of  re- 
spect, he  had  presented  himself  before  the  irate 
mother  of  his  sweetheart,  and,  remembering  her  con- 
temptuous disregard  of  the  famous  warning  against 
"  Greeks  bearing  gifts  " — knowing,  indeed,  that  she 
really  had  no  use  for  Greeks  otherwise  engaged — he 
kept  some  suggestive  small  packages  in  evidence  as 
he  entered  the  sitting-room. 

And  as  he  brought  himself  a  chair  and  placed  it 
close  to  her  never-resting  "  rocker,"  he  recognized  in 

230 


A  Professional  Lesson 

the  buzzing  swarm  of  verbal  wasps  she  turned  loose 
upon  him  the  words  "  disrespectful — unnerved — par- 
alysed —  disingenuous — stealthy — infringing — intrud- 
ing— inveigling,"  and  with  failing  breath  the  last 
warning  injunction :  "  And  let  me  hear  no  panegyrical 
eulogy  on  poverty,  if  you  please,  sir !  " 

Then  with  a  wisdom  far  beyond  his  years  he  retired 
to  the  background  his  lover's  raptures,  his  glowing 
admiration  for  her  daughter's  beauty;  and  bringing 
forward  the  thrilling  question  of  "  pounds,  shillings, 
and  pence,"  they  soon  resolved  themselves  into  a 
"  ways  and  means  committee."  And  presently  Le- 
titia's  wasps  turned  to  bees,  and  the  bees  began  to 
bear  the  honey  of  sweet  words. 

Then  she  accepted  most  graciously  these  offerings, 
and  bridled  and  declared  she  "  already  felt  quite  old 
at  the  prospect  of  mothering  such  a  great  wicked 
man !  "  And  when  he  made  the  usual  complimentary 
rejoinder,  she  pronounced  him  "  saucy,"  and  "  won- 
dered, if  he  talked  in  that  fashion  to  her,  what  on 
earth  he  would  not  say  to  Dorothy !  "  and  was  full  of 
regret  when  he  insisted  upon  going  out  to  look  for 
Mr.  Lawton.  Then  up  she  went  to  the  room  above, 
where  Dorothy  was  holding  the  play-book  in  her  free 
hand  and  giving  the  cues,  while  Sybil  repeated  her 
lines  to  see  how  nearly  letter  perfect  she  was. 

Both  girls  exclaimed :  "  Why,  mamma !  "  Her  ex- 
pression had  changed  so  completely  and  her  walk 
was  so  important — quite  her  old-time  society  move- 
ment. And  then  as  she  approached  the  bed  they 
caught  the  first  glimpse  of  a  long  fine  chain  of  ex- 

231 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

quisite  workmanship,  strung  at  intervals  of  five  or  six 
inches  with  pale  pink  coral  beads  that  were  in  turn 
girdled  with  a  circle  of  tiny  diamonds. 

Mrs.  Lawton  ostentatiously  lifted  her  lorjpion,  and 
again  the  girls  exclaimed :  "  Why,  mamma !  "  And 
then,  as  she  stooped  over  to  kiss  Dorothy,  she  re- 
marked, quite  patronizingly :  "  Yes,  our  Leslie  is 
very  generous  and  thoughtful.  He  wanted  me  to 
have  a  little  memento  of  your  engagement,  dear 
fellow ! " 

She  did  not  add  that  the  other  memento  was  a  large 
Strasbourg  pate.  She  kept  that  fact,  like  the  pate, 
to  herself. 

Some  weeks  slipped  by,  and  early  winter  was  turn- 
ing the  old  white  house  into  a  very  Franz  Joseph 
Land.  "  Oh !  "  cried  Dorothy  one  day,  "  to  think  of 
your  having  to  buy  all  the  coal,  Sybil !  What  stupid 
things  the  conventions  are!  I  may  accept  any  ex- 
travagant outlay  of  money  in  flowers  or  candy  or 
fruit,  but  the  entire  family  would  be  under  the  grand 
taboo  if  I  received  a  ton  of  coal  or  a  barrel  of  flour." 

"  Is  the  flour  out,  dear  ?  "  quickly  asked  Sybil,  lay- 
ing down  her  play-book.  "  Have  you  been  worrying 
your  poor  little  head?  Don't  hide  things  from  me, 
Dorrie !  If  I  have  the  money,  I  love  to  spend  it  for 
home.  Of  course  my  salary  is  small,  but,  dear 
heaven !  what  should  we  have  done  without  it  in  this 
old  sieve  of  a  building,  where  fuel  simply  melts  away, 
and  the  grate  or  stove  is  always  calling  out  for  more  ? 
Oh,  Dorrie,  if  I  could  only  make  a  hit  in  Juliet !  Mr. 

232 


A  Professional  Lesson 

Thrall  would  surely  raise  my  salary;  yes,  in  spite  of 
the  cost  of  those  costumes  that  fall  upon  him,  poor 
man!  Are  they  not  a  wonderful  people — Claire 
Morrell  aftd  Stewart  Thrall?  Think  of  the  kindness 
of  that  woman  to  me,  a  nobody !  And  think  of  such 
an  actor  as  Thrall — Stewart  Thrall — taking  the 
trouble  to  teach  me  the  business  of  Juliet,  his  very 
self.  Oh,  I  shall  be  so  frightened!  Dorrie,  Mr. 
Roberts  has  been  very  patient,  going  over  and  over 
the  scenes  with  me ;  telling  me  where  I  am  to  stand 
and  where  the  other  people  will  be,  and  what  they  will 
do,  but  he  never  has  taught  me  anything  about  the 
actual  acting  of  Juliet.  And  now  to  think  that  I  am 
to  be  coached  at  Godmother  Van  Camp's  house  by 
Mr.  Thrall  in  person !  I  only  hope  and  pray  he  may 
not  light  up  as  he  does  sometimes  when  he  is  acting, 
for,  if  he  does,  I  shall  forget  my  own  lines  in  raptur- 
ously listening  to  him.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Roberts 
is  sorry  that  Mr.  Thrall  ever  undertook  the  manage- 
ment of  a  theatre  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Dorothy,  "  he  is  successful — he 
must  make  a  great  deal  of  money  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  very  thing  poor  Mr.  Roberts  bemoans. 
He  says  the  artist  in  him  has  been  suffocated  by  his 
commercially  won  money.  He  says  that  Mr.  Thrall 
will  himself  admit  that  his  acting  to-day  is  not  as  con- 
vincingly true  and  fine  as  it  was  five  years  ago.  Be- 
cause then  he  was  all  enthusiasm,  and  believed  in  the 
dignity  and  beauty  of  the  art  of  acting,  while  to-day 
he  regards  it  as  a  means  to  an  end — and  that  end, 
money.  Poor  Mr.  Roberts,  he  seems  to  know  so 

233 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

much  about  the  profession,  and  yet  only  plays  such 
small  parts.  It  must  be  very  humiliating.  His  lip 
curled  so  contemptuously  when  he  told  me  he  was 
going  to  play  the  Apothecary.  Do  you  know,  Dor- 
rie,  I  have  a  suspicion  about  him,  poor  man!  He 
always,  always  smells  of  cloves,  and  twice  yesterday 
when  he  pulled  out  his  handkerchief  some  cloves  fell 
to  the  floor,  and  I  said :  '  I  believe  you  have  a  cor- 
ner on  cloves,  Mr.  Roberts.'  And,  oh,  his  poor  face 
turned  so  red,  and  I  added,  hurriedly, '  Don't  you  think 
the  excessive  use  of  cloves  may  be  injurious  to  the 
digestion  ?  '  '  Possibly,'  he  answered,  satirically,  '  and 
doubtless  still  more  injurious  to  the  reputation.'  I 
saw  his  trembling  hands;  I  recalled  the  watery  look 
his  eyes  sometimes  have ;  his  rapid,  almost  incoherent 
speech  as  opposed  to  his  long  silences ;  and,  all  at 
once,  I  suspected  him  of  drinking." 

"  Sybil ! "  exclaimed  Dorothy  in  a  shocked  voice, 
"  and  you  have  been  under  his  care,  and  may  be 
again,  and  he " 

"  Has  acted  like  some  kind  and  patient  old  relative 
or  friend  of  the  family ;  don't  let  us  forget  that.  Be- 
sides, I  may  be  wrong  and  ungrateful  in  suspecting 
such  a  thing,  but — but  it  would  explain  why  Mr. 
Thrall,  whom  he  so  admires,  only  trusts  him  with 
such  poor,  small  parts." 

Sybil  had  been  nursing  her  right  elbow  in  her  left 
hand  while  speaking,  and  now  suddenly  exclaimed: 
"  Oh,  where's  the  arnica  bottle  ?  I  can't  bear  this  last 
bruise — it's  the  worst  one  yet !  " 

"  The  bottle  is  on  the  wash-stand  behind  the  ewer, 
234 


A   Professional  Lesson 

but  I'm  afraid  it's  nearly  empty,  for  Lena  fairly  bap- 
tized me  with  it  that  day  of  the " 

"Circus?"  put  in  Sybil.  "Just  look,  Dorrie." 
She  pushed  up  her  loose  sleeve,  and  her  sister  gave  a 
cry  of  pity  at  sight  of  a  cruel  black  bruise  on  that 
most  sensitive  spot — the  elbow. 

"And  your  poor  shoulder  only  yesterday?" 

"  And  my  poor  knees  only  last  week ! "  ruefully 
groaned  Sybil,  tenderly  sopping  some  arnica  dregs 
upon  the  bruised  member. 

"  Oh,  those  black  knees !  "  giggled  Dorothy,  "  they 
looked  as  if  you  had  knelt  in  the  coal  cellar!  " 

"  You  heartless  little  beast !  "  cried  Sybil.  "  See 
here,  if  you  laugh  at  my  professional  troubles  and  en- 
suing physical  pains — I'll " 

"  You  can't  pound  me,"  triumphed  Dorothy,  "  my 
arm  is  too  weak !  " 

"  No,  but  I  can  do  worse !  Lena  has  fully  informed 
you  of  the  horrors  that  follow  upon  '  calling  a  maid 
by  a  married  name,'  and  the  certainty  that  said  maid 
will  never  have  a  married  name  to  be  called  by,  so 
Mrs.— Mrs. " 

"Oh,  Syb!  Syb!  don't!"  pleaded  the  repentant 
one.  "  Syb,  I'm  awfully  sorry  for  your  knees — hon- 
estly I  am !  And  if  I  could  fall  for  you,  I  would — 
gladly ;  though  how  in  mercy's  name  actresses  tumble 
down  in  faints  or  in  death-scenes,  without  either 
breaking  their  bones  or  getting  laughed  at,  is  more 
than  I  can  understand." 

"  Oh,  it's  the  fear  of  being  laughed  at  that  tortures 
me,  Dorrie,  I  could  never,  never  face  an  audience 

235 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

again.  Why,  last  summer  out  at  the  Soldiers'  Home 
theatre,  a  woman  had  to  fall  in  the  play  and  the  peo- 
ple fairly  screamed  with  laughter,  and  a  newspaper 
said  that  '  Miss  had  not  fallen,  but  had  tum- 
bled down  in  sections.'  Ever  since  I  have  been  study- 
ing this  part,  I  have  agonized  over  my  fall,  and  with 
what  result?  I've  bruised  myself  from  head  to  foot; 
shaken  mamma's  nerves — crumbled  the  ceiling — 
frightened  papa  out  of  the  house  at  each  crash, 
and  " — actually  tears  were  in  Sybil's  dark  eyes — "  and 
I  always  land  in  a  hunched-up  heap  that  would  arouse 
scornful  merriment  in  the  very  supers." 

"  Poor  Sybbie !  "  condoled  Dorothy.  Then  more 
brightly :  "  As  you  can't  ask  Mr.  Thrall  or  Mr.  Rob- 
erts to  help  you,  why  don't  you  go  over  to  Brooklyn  ; 
make  papa  take  you — Claire  Morrell's  playing  there 
this  week.  Ask  for  just  a  moment's  interview,  and 
make  a  clean  breast  of  your  trouble  to  her.  I'm  sure 
she  would  help  you — she's  so  kind." 

"  Oh,  I  hate  to  trouble  her  when  she  is  working  so 
hard ;  and,  besides,  I  am  afraid  falling  is  a  thing  that 
can't  be  taught,  Dorothy.  But,  oh,  do  you  remem- 
ber her  lovely  fall  in  '  Camille  ' — the  ballroom  one  I 
mean — all  stretched  out  so  long  and  smooth,  and  yet 
falling  with  a  crash  that  made  you  nearly  leap  from 
your  chair  ?  It's  a  mystery  beyond  my  solving." 

"  Lena's  mash-man  told  her — Miss  Morrell's  coach- 
man told  him — she  was  coming  over  home  one  day 
this  week,  and  perhaps " 

Jangle-jangle  interrupted  the  bell  at  the  front  door, 
followed  by  the  peculiarly  business-like  tread  of  Lena 

236 


A  Professional  Lesson 

that  ever  indicated  a  suspicion  of  pedlar  or  tramp, 
and  a  shuffling,  slippered  flight  by  Mrs.  Lawton,  who 
hissed  over  the  banisters :  "  Say  I'm  lying  down,  rest- 
ing, but  will  descend — that  is,  if  she  has  sufficient 
knowledge  of  the  amenities  of  social  life  to  ask  for 
me  instead  of  my  offspring." 

Then  as  the  girls  gazed  wonderingly  at  each  other 
Lena  appeared,  smiling  broadly,  but  somewhat  puz- 
zled too,  saying:  "The  big  actor  voman's  com'  und 
ask  for  der  mudder  und  for  der  miss  ladies.  Und  I 
say  ja,  dey  all  com'  by  der  house,  und  blease  com' 
in  by  der  sittin'-rooms,  'cause  we  didn't  ever  make 
of  der  fire  in  der  parlor.  Und  she  say  dat  vas  right, 
der  parlor  never  com'  like  a  home,  und  I  com'  up  to 
tell.  Und  she  leave  all  dose  visitin'  tickets  on  der 
hall  table.  Und  I  don't  know  for  vy."  And  she 
held  out  five  cards,  adding,  distressedly,  "  Und  von 
of  'em  has  a  man's  name  on  it.  Dat  com'  by  mistake, 
eh  ?  I  take  dat  back  to  her  ?  " 

"  No,  no !  Lena !  "  laughed  the  girls,  "  that's  the 
card  of  her  husband ! " 

"  Veil,  shall  I  take  back  of  der  extra  tickets  ?  She 
com',  a  nice  voman,  und  it  is  too  bad  to  have  of  der 
tickets  vasted?  " 

"  Oh,  Lena !  do  go  and  tell  mamma  Miss  Morrell 
is  waiting,  and  leave  the  cards  alone,"  said  Dorothy, 
"  and  we  will  explain  about  them  to  you  by  and  by !  " 

And  after  Mrs.  Lawton  had  attempted  to  crush  her 
caller  by  explaining  the  "  wait "  for  her  descent  by 
the  statement  that  she  "  hardly  expected  callers  be- 
fore three,"  Miss  Morrell,  with  a  gracious  ignoring 

237 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

of  the  intended  snub  that  the  girls  adored  her  for, 
proceeded  to  explain  the  necessity  of  calling  early  or 
not  at  all,  as  she  had  to  return  to  Brooklyn  in  time 
for  her  play.  Whereupon  Mrs.  Lawton  found  her- 
self, to  her  own  surprise  be  it  stated,  descending  from 
her  high  horse  and  eagerly  discussing  the  probabili- 
ties of  English  five-o'clock  teas  ever  becoming  really 
domesticated  in  America.  And  presently  she  went 
in  search  of  Mr.  Lawton  (whom  she  knew  to  be  in  the 
kitchen  whittling  kindlings  for  the  quick  lighting  of 
Lena's  fire  in  the  arctic-like  morning). 

And  then  Miss  Morrell,  happening  to  press  Sybil's 
arm,  brought  forth  a  whimper  of  pain  and  an  exhibi- 
tion of  bruises  the  cause  of  which  she  comprehended 
in  a  moment.  "  Oh,  you  poor  mottled  child — what 
a  state  you  must  be  in?  Have  you  been  falling  on 
the  bare  floor,  then  ?  " 

"  I've  tried  to  fall  on  a  mattress,"  confessed  Sybil, 
"  but  some  part  of  me  always  flies  over  on  the  floor." 

Miss  Morrell  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed  till 
the  tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  "  Then  you  must  let  me 
help  you,"  she  said,  "  it  is  very,  very  easy."  She  was 
drawing  off  her  gloves  as  she  spoke,  and,  tossing  them 
to  the  piano,  she  stepped  toward  the  centre  of  the 
room,  saying,  "  You  see,  now — "  She  raised  her 
hands  toward  her  head,  and  without  further  prepara- 
tion, without  a  warning  word,  she  fell  suddenly  face 
downward  with  a  crash  that  made  things  jingle  on 
the  mantel,  and  brought  two  startled  screams  from 
the  girls  and  Mr.  Lawton  rushing  to  her  assistance. 
That  gentleman,  bending  over  to  lift  her,  was  stricken 

238 


A  Professional  Lesson 

helpless  by  her  raising  her  head  and  asking,  pleas- 
antly :  "  My  skirts  are  lying  all  right,  aren't  they  ?  " 
Then  she  added:  "  Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Lawton? 
Just  give  me  your  hand,  will  you?  This  dress  is  a 
little  tight  for  falling  in,  and  I  can't  get  up."  Then, 
turning  to  Sybil,  she  laughed  at  her  astonished  face : 
"  I'm  afraid  you  did  not  catch  the  trick,  did  you?  " 

"  Oh !  "  answered  the  girl  with  her  hand  on  her 
heart,  "  I  never  got  such  a  scare  in  my  life !  How, 
oh,  how  do  you  do  it  ?  Just  look  at  Dorothy !  She's 
quite  white." 

And  it  was  difficult  for  the  girl  to  believe  that  Miss 
Morrell  had  not  suffered  in  the  least  from  such  a  fall. 

"  Why,  it's  just  a  trade  secret,"  laughed  the  actress. 
"  Some  people  never  fall  well  because  their  nerve  fails 
them  at  the  last  moment,  but  all  their  lives  long  are 
content  with  a  sort  of  jointed  fall — they  drop  on  their 
knees  and  then  forward  on  their  faces.  If  it  is  done 
very  quickly  it  passes,  but  one  never  looks  graceful, 
and  the  immense  effect  of  the  crash  of  the  fall  is  miss- 
ing. Then,  too,  an  actress  who  goes  down  in  that 
manner  not  only  runs  the  risk  of  being  made  fun  of, 
but  the  bruising  over  and  over  again  of  the  same  spot 
may  produce  a  lump  with  a  very  ugly  and  alarming 
name. 

"  But  here  is  the  whole  wonderful  secret."  She 
held  out  her  open  hands,  and  both  girls  saw  their 
palms  were  slightly  reddened.  "  Always  throw  out 
your  hand,  both  of  them  in  beginning;  keep  your 
knees  nearly  stiff,  and  just  topple  over  like  a  great 
tree,  but  strike  on  the  flats  of  your  open  hands.  The 

239 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

blow  won't  hurt  them  beyond  making  them  sting  a 
little.  Your  knees,  elbows,  head,  shoulders,  are  all 
safe — yet  you  have  fallen  with  immense  force." 

Sybil  lifted  her  hands  and  made  a  movement  as  if 
about  to  try  the  trick,  but  stopped,  looking  rather 
frightened. 

"  No,  no — not  here  !  "  said  Miss  Morrell.  "  Try 
on  your  mattress  first,  and  close  your  eyes  when  you 
have  marked  where  you  want  to  strike,  and  then  the 
distance  won't  frighten  you  so.  The  bolder  you  get, 
the  less  you  will  extend  your  hands.  It  requires 
nerve,  but  I'm  sure  that  is  a  quality  you  possess,  my 
dear.  Besides,  you  may  not  play  a  part  requiring  a 
fall  for  a  year  or  two  yet." 

And  Sybil  blushed  hotly  because  she  had  been  so 
charged  to  secrecy  that  she  dared  not  tell  even  this 
woman  who  was  so  good  to  her  that  she  was  the  girl 
about  whom  all  the  newspaper  stories  were  appear- 
ing, and  that  she  was  being  coached  for  Juliet. 

After  a  few  moments  of  general  conversation  the 
caller  rose  to  go,  and,  while  Mr.  Lawton  stepped  to 
the  door  to  signal  the  coachman,  who  had  been  keep- 
ing his  horses  moving,  Mrs.  Lawton  explained  that 
in  former  years  the  "  porte  cochere  of  her  old  home 
would  have  made  such  action  needless,  but  this," 
waving  her  hand  condemningly,  "  was  not  a  home, 
but — er — er  a  mere  shelter." 

"  Ah !  "  graciously  responded  the  actress,  "  but  you 
know  there  are  people  who  have  the  gift  of  carrying 
the  home  atmosphere  with  them  even  to  a — mere 
shelter." 

240 


A  Professional  Lesson 

And  Mrs.  Lawton  really  looked  very  handsome 
and  quite  impressive,  for  she  felt  she  was  receiving 
her  due,  and  all  the  time  Sybil  was  secretly  squeezing 
the  fingers  of  her  friend,  and  in  the  hall,  while  her 
father  gallantly  opened  the  carriage  door,  she  whis- 
pered :  "  I  love  you  so  for  having  helped  me !  And 
Dorothy  prays  fo~  you !  " 

With  quick  anxiety  in  eye  and  voice  the  woman 
questioned :  "  Why  not  do  it  yourself,  my  child  ?  " 
But  good-byes  were  being  repeated,  and  with  that 
slight  sense  of  dissatisfaction  upon  her  she  had  to 
take  her  departure. 

Then  the  floodgates  of  Mrs.  Lawton's  eloquence 
were  opened,  and  Dorothy  and  John  Lawton  were 
caught  in  the  swirl  of  eulogy  and  reminiscence  until 
suddenly  a  heavy  jar  overhead  and  a  rattling  of  mor- 
tar between  the  partitions  was  followed  by  a  shrill  cry 
of:  "I've  done  it!  I've  done  it!  Dorothy!  Papa! 
Mamma !  Come  here,  quick !  quick !  " 

They  all  fled  up  the  stairs  to  find  Sybil  stretched 
out  on  her  face  on  a  mattress,  kicking  her  slippers 
impatiently  for  their  coming:  "Look  at  me!"  she 
cried.  "  See  my  skirts — they  are  just  exactly  as  I 
fell !  I  haven't  moved  an  inch !  " 

John  said,  slowly :  "  I-t  wasn't  an  accident,  was  it, 
daughter  ?  Are  you  sure  you  can  do  it  again  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Sybbie !  "  cried  Dorothy,  "  do  try  it  once 
more — only  be  very  careful  not  to  fly  over  and  get 
bruised !  " 

And  willingly  enough  up  scrambled  Sybil,  and, 
standing  at  the  foot  of  the  mattress,  she  threw  up  her 

241 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

hands  and  with  closed  eyes  pitched  recklessly  forward, 
and  arrived  in  good  order  to  cries  of  admiration  and 
wonder  from  the  lookers-on  when,  suddenly,  Lena 
appeared,  saying:  "Miss  Sybbils,  uf  you  blease,  do 
dose  yumps  und  tumbles  in  der  odder  room.  Der 
ceilin's  too  tender  under  here,  und  a  chunk  com'  by 
der  floor  down  youst  now." 

And  while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lawton  went  below  to 
measure  the  disaster,  Sybil  threw  her  arm  about 
Dorothy's  waist,  crying :  "  Oh,  won't  Mr.  Thrall  be 
surprised  and  delighted  with  me  when  he  finds  I  can 
make  a  real  Morrell  fall !  " 

Then  to  the  tune  of  "  Take  back  the  heart  that  thou 
gavest !  "  she  burst  into  singing : 

Take  back  the  bottle  thou  gavest 
What  are  my  bruised  knees  to  thee ! 

and  tossed  the  arnica  bottle  at  Dorothy,  and  renewed 
her  everlasting  study  of  Juliet. 


242 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SEEKING  REFUGE  FROM   THE  STORM 

The  first  appearance  of  the  new  Juliet  was  but  one 
week  off.  Sybil  had  spent  the  last  fortnight  with  Mrs. 
Van  Camp,  and  some  very  hard  work  had  been  done  in 
the  quaint  old  drawing-room,  for  be  it  known  there  are 
few  more  difficult  undertakings  than  the  proper  coach- 
ing of  an  inexperienced  girl  for  the  playing  of  a  great 
part. 

The  actress  who  has  made  her  way  gradually  ac- 
quires, all  unconsciously,  a  hundred  nameless  graces, 
little  tricks  of  manner,  movement  or  expression,  poses, 
poises,  flutterings,  the  turn  of  the  head  or  the  glance 
of  the  eye,  and  all  seem  so  natural,  so  spontaneous ;  but 
try  to  teach  them  to  a  novice  and  both  coach  and  pupil 
will  find  their  work  cut  out  for  them. 

The  process  is  an  unnatural  one,  and  the  result  is  a 
forced  blossom,  that,  however  brilliantly  beautiful,  has 
a  frail  exotic  air  that  makes  even  admirers  wonder  if 
the  plant  has  sufficient  strength  ever  to  bloom  again. 

Stewart  Thrall  knew  perfectly  what  drudgery 
coaching  meant,  and  perversely  told  himself,  up  to  the 
very  last  moment,  that  he  should  send,  in  a  day  or  two, 
to-morrow,  next  day,  for  "  Mother  Mordaunt " 
(whose  home  was  irreverently  termed  "  The  Hatch- 
ery," because  of  the  numbers  of  amateurs  she  ever  had 

243 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

in  training  there),  and  place  the  Crown  Princess  in 
her  hands,  "  for  drill,  tuition,  and  discipline,"  and  with 
insidious  self-deception  he  went  so  far  as  to  write  a  note 
to  summon  her.  Then  he  caught  at  the  word  "  drill  " 
to  hang  his  changed  opinion  on.  He  did  not  want  her 
"  drilled  "  out  of  all  the  bright  spontaneity  that  was 
in  her  now;  and,  come  to  think  of  it,  all  Mrs.  Mor- 
daunt's  pupils  were  trained  to  the  same  pattern — they 
were  merely  weak  copies  of  herself.  He  believed,  after 
all,  he  would  undertake  the  task  himself,  and  he  tore 
to  bits  the  note  summoning  Mrs.  Mordaunt,  and  wrote 
instead  that  line  to  Sybil,  which  had  caused  her  so  much 
surprised  gratitude,  and  then  remarked  casually  to  Jim 
Roberts,  who  sat  in  the  private  office  with  him  and 
carefully  polished  the  metalled  gauntlets  that  belonged 
to  a  coat  of  mail :  "  I  don't  know  but  what  young  Fitz- 
allen  is  too  inexperienced  to  do  Romeo  with  a  green- 
girl  Juliet.  It's  rather  too  great  a  risk.  Maybe  I  had 
better  go  on  for  it  myself,  though  I  suppose  I'll  scarcely 
look  the  part  now,  even  in  some  new  and  youthful 
toggery?" 

Roberts  looked  up  from  his  task,  with  a  queer  ex- 
pression of  blended  admiration  and  anger  on  his  face, 
and  answered :  "  You'll  look  the  part  all  right,  just  as 
well  as  you  ever  did,  but — what's  the  use  of  trying  to 
deceive  yourself,  for  you  wouldn't  condescend  to  try 
to  deceive  me  surely.  You  know  well  enough  that  as 
long  ago  as  when  you  telegraphed  me  to  bring  Miss 
Lawton  back  from  the  West  you  had  already  decided 
to  play  Romeo  to  her  Juliet,  and  I  knew  it  as  well  as 
you  did,  so  what's  the  use  ?  " 

244 


Seeking  Refuge  from  the  Storm 

"  Indeed !  Why,  you  are  becoming  clairvoyant ! 
Isn't  that  what  they  call  the  fellow  who  lies  about  see- 
ing things  that  have  never  occurred?  Jim,  you're  off 
your  base !  " 

"  Easy,  Thrall ! "  answered  Roberts,  in  a  low  tone. 
"  A  sneer  more  or  less  doesn't  matter  much,  but  we 
will  draw  the  line  at  '  lying ! '  And  if  I'm  off  my  base 
no  one  knows  why  better  than  you  do !  " 

With  a  muttered  oath  Thrall  left  the  room,  but  he 
took  the  note  that  summoned  Sybil  and  mailed  it  him- 
self. 

They  had  worked  hard  and  long  in  the  old-timey 
drawing-room,  for  only  the  very  last  rehearsals  were 
to  be  held  upon  the  stage  with  the  full  company.  Sybil 
had  rehearsed  until  her  head  ached,  her  throat 
throbbed,  and  her  lips  were  dry  and  parched.  High- 
spirited,  restless,  quick-tempered,  she  forced  herself 
to  docility,  and  patiently  repeated,  went  back,  and  be- 
gan over,  bore  criticisms  with  hard-won  meekness,  and 
when  she  received  an  approving  word  her  tired  lips 
curled  into  the  lovely  smile  that  thrilled  her  teacher's 
nerves. 

Then  her  patience,  her  determination  to  succeed,  her 
passionate  desire  to  understand  the  part,  added  to  her 
keen  appreciation  of  the  beauty  of  the  language,  all 
appealed  to  the  artist  in  him;  while  her  attitude  of 
reverent  admiration  toward  himself  touched  even 
while  it  humiliated  him,  in  that  he  knew  he  was 
not  worthy  of  such  reverence.  Yet,  in  some  strange 
way,  he  seemed  to  see  in  her  the  reincarnation  of  his 
own  youthful  sincerity,  passionate  ambition,  and  eager, 

245 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

loving  labor,  before  the  testing  fires  of  life  had  found 
so  much  dross  in  him ;  and,  with  a  great  wave  of  ten- 
derness swelling  in  his  heart,  he  vowed  she  should  not 
"  lose  the  way,"  as  he  had  done ;  that  her  dainty  imag- 
inings, her  original  ideas,  should  not  be  frightened 
back  by  sneer  or  sarcasm;  and  that  her  reverent  love 
for  the  mighty  playwright  of  the  ages  should  not  be 
ridiculed  or  "  guyed  "  into  a  mere  question  of  which 
of  his  plays  had  the  most  money  in  it. 

She  had  the  fire,  the  magnetism,  the  imaginative 
power  of  the  artistic  temperament,  and,  in  guarding 
her  from  the  banalities  and  the  cheap  cynicisms  that 
are  so  deadly  in  their  effect  upon  the  enthusiastic 
young  beginner,  he  somehow  felt  as  if  he  were  making 
reparation  for  the  wrong  he  had  done  that  younger 
self,  who  had  hoped  for  fame,  but  had  been  given 
notoriety  instead. 

Nor  was  that  the  last  excuse  Thrall  found  for  his 
willing  work  in  training  this  young  actress.  The  man- 
ager, the  money-getter  in  him,  was  appealed  to  also. 
More  and  more  plainly  he  saw  in  this  young  gentle- 
woman of  the  unusual  beauty,  whose  very  imperfec- 
tions were  just  enough  to  humanize,  to  attract,  the 
public — not  to  repel  and  chill  as  absolutely  statuesque 
perfection  has  a  way  of  doing,  a  "  card "  of  great 
value.  More  and  more  surely  he  knew  that  there  was 
"  money  in  her,"  and  he  meant  that  every  dollar  she 
could  be  made  to  draw  should  roll  safely  into  the  box- 
office  drawer.  And  so  he  told  himself  that  in  order  to 
discount  the  dulled  edge  of  a  curiosity  gratified  she 
must  be  taught  really  to  act — to  act  well.  For  that  wa,s 

24$ 


Seeking  Refuge  from  the  Storm 

what  they  would  have  to  rely  upon  at  the  last — beauty 
and  acting  combined,  when  the  drawing  power  of  mere 
novelty  was  exhausted.  Therefore,  it  was  simply 
good,  sound,  business  tactics  to  train  and  explain  and 
repeat — repeat — repeat!  and  to  be  very  stern  some- 
times, because  a  drooping  figure  and  a  white,  tired  face 
made  him  long  so  to  gather  the  weary  young  body  into 
his  arms  and  whisper :  "  Rest !  poor  little  queen  to  be ! 
rest!" 

All  these  reasons  for  coaching  Sybil  himself,  instead 
of  engaging  Mrs.  Mordaunt  to  do  it  for  him,  he  ac- 
knowledged, and  if  there  was  yet  another  one,  he 
ignored  its  existence  until  that  morning  when  the  first 
performance  was  but  one  week  off. 

Leslie  Gait,  the  grave  young  lover  of  Dorothy,  had 
from  the  first  found  a  friend  in  Sybil,  and  she  had  been 
a  willing  screen  for  hardly  secured  hand-pressures  at 
sundry  partings ;  had  made  swift  and  fairly  reasonable 
excuses  for  brief,  but  to  Mrs.  Lawton  unaccountable, 
absences  from  porch  or  parlor ;  had  given  many  a  vital 
hint,  that  he  had  followed  to  his  profit,  and,  in  conse- 
quence, he  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  depending  upon 
her  sisterly  advice  in  his  love-affairs.  "  When  in  doubt, 
consult  your  Sybil !  "  was  his  way  of  describing  the 
situation ;  and  on  that  morning,  being  in  doubt,  he  had 
appeared  at  Mrs.  Van  Camp's  and  had  sought  an  in- 
terview before  work  began. 

After  greetings  and  a  few  commonplaces  had  been 
exchanged,  a  slight  pause  was  broken  by  Sybil  saying, 
briskly :  "  Brother-to-be !  you  are  evidently  on  the 
anxious  seat  about  something,  so  rise  up  like  a  little. 

247 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

man  and  tell  me  all  about  what  brought  you  there !  Do 
you  know  (she  cocked  her  head  to  one  side  in  a  lu- 
dicrous imitation  of  old  Poll],  you  look  like  a  young 
person  who,  having  gone  and  done  something  he  is 
half  sorry  for,  is  now  in  search  of  a  friend  who  will 
brace  him  up  and  tell  him  how  wondrous  wise  he  has 
been?" 

Gait  laughed  rather  nervously,  rather  flatly,  and  a 
dismal  "  Ha !  ha ! "  came  in  quick  response  from  be- 
neath the  sofa. 

"  There !  "  the  speaker  went  on ;  "  did  you  hear  that  ? 
There's  the  same  clear,  mirthful  ring  in  that  laugh  that 
yours  had  just  now — so  hearty !  " 

He  threatened  the  girl  with  the  walking-stick  he  was 
rolling  restlessly  across  his  knee.  "  Upon  my  word," 
he  said,  "  you  are  wonderfully  well  named.  I  believe 
you  are  a  true  descendant  of  the  mighty  Cumsean  Sybil 
of  old,  whose  peculiar  business  methods  worried  Tar- 
quin  of  Rome — just  as  you  will  in  all  probability  worry 
Mr.  Thrall !  Sybil,  do  you  see  what  that  wretched  bird 
is  about?  He  is  cutting  the  buckle  off  your  slipper." 

"  Go  away !  "  exclaimed  she,  pushing  the  ancient  tor- 
ment from  her. 

"  Scratch  poor  Poll !  "  hoarsely  suggested  the  bird, 
cocking  his  head  to  one  side  in  just  the  manner  she  had 
been  imitating  a  moment  before. 

"  I  won't !  "  she  refused.  "  I  scratched  your  treach- 
erous old  head  for  half  an  hour,  and  had  to  trim  my 
nails  for  my  trouble!  Go  away,  Poll!  Oh,  Leslie! 
take  him  off,  he's  getting  cross,  and  he'll  bite  my  skirt 
full  of  holes  if  you  don't !  " 

248 


Seeking  Refuge  from  the  Storm 

And,  after  some  little  manoeuvring,  the  green  tyrant 
was  induced  to  clamber  laboriously  and  profanely  on 
to  the  stick,  and  was  thus  carried  to  Mrs.  Van  Camp, 
who  cried :  "  Come  to  his  mamma,  then,  and  stop  his 
naughty  damning!  and  let  dear  mamma  scratch  Poll's 
pretty  head !  "  adding  aside  to  Gait :  "  It's  so  odd,  he 
always  speaks  so  much  more  distinctly  when  he  swears. 
Just  hear  how  plainly  he  is  damning  me  now,  yet  words 
that  I  have  been  trying  with  all  possible  care  to  teach 
him  he  gives  in  such  guttural  tones  that  only  a  loving 
ear  can  comprehend  them." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  young  man,  "  it's  probably  an 
inherited  preference,  since  it  is  common  to  all  parrots. 
Sailors  have  told  me  that  even  the  females — who  do 
not  talk,  you  know,  save  in  the  exceptional  case  that 
makes  the  rule — even  they  are  capable  of  saying 
'  hell ! '  with  apparent  appreciation,  though  they  never 
learn  another  word." 

"  Dear  me,  how  interesting ! "  smiled  Mrs.  Van 
Camp,  who  then  sweetly  asked :  "  Are  you,  by  any 
chance,  concerned  in  the  establishment  of  Sunday- 
schools  in  your  river  town  ?  " 

Amid  general  laughter  Leslie  returned  to  Sybil,  who 
gurgled :  "  Oh,  dear  boy ;  never  again  try  to  poke  fun 
at  my  godmother !  But  now  that  Poll  has  gone,  what 
is  the  matter?  " 

"  Just  this :  day  after  to-morrow  is  Dorothy's  birth- 
day, and " 

"  Oh ! "  murmured  Sybil,  and  drew  nearer  with 
brightening  eyes.  "  You  want  to  get  a  present  for  her. 
Well?" 

249 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

"I've  already  got  it,"  said  Gait,  anxiously,  "and 
now  I'm  wondering  what  she  will  think  of  it.  May  I 
show  it  to  you,  and  will  you  tell  me  honestly  whether 
I  should  offer  it  or  get  something  else  ?  " 

She  nodded  her  head,  and  first  he  drew  from  his 
coat-pocket  a  cabinet  photograph  of  Mrs.  Lawton, 
which  he  returned,  thanking  her  for  its,  to  her,  mys- 
terious loan.  Then  he  took  from  its  tissue  wrapping  a 
locket. 

"  Oh,  how  pretty !  "  cried  Sybil.  "  A  '  D  '  in  pearls 
on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  " — she  gave  him  a  roguish 
glance  of  understanding — "  a  violet  in  enamel !  " 

But  his  face  kept  its  unsmiling,  anxious  look. 
"  Open  it,"  he  said. 

"  Is  there  a  picture,  Leslie  ?  Oh,  I  am  glad !  An 
empty  locket  always  seems  such  an  absurdity.  Oh !  " 
For  two  pictures  were  within.  She  gave  a  startled 
glance,  and  continued,  "  Mamma !  Such  a  good  like- 
ness, too,  and — "  a  pause,  and,  in  a  lower  tone,  she 
added,  "  and  your  mother ! "  For,  looking  at  that, 
fair-haired,  gentle-faced  woman,  one  saw  at  a  glance 
from  whom  Gait  had  obtained  his  steady  gray  eyes. 

"  You  don't  think  Dorothy  will  misunderstand,  do 
you?  "  he  asked.  "  Yet  it  has  just  occurred  to  me  that 
some  people  shrink  from  reminders  of,  of —  Sybil, 
there  is  just  that  one  cloud  upon  my  perfect  joy  that 
my  beloved  mother  cannot  know  and  love  my  promised 
wife ! " 

Raising  big,  tear-brimmed  eyes  to  his  face  she  said, 
gently :  "  Very  likely  Dorrie  will  tell  you  that  she  can, 
for  her  faith  is  absolutely  boundless." 
250 


Seeking  Refuge  from  the  Storm 

"  God  bless  her !  "  whispered  Gait. 

"  Amen !  to  that,"  answered  her  sister.  "  Leslie," 
she  went  on,  "  your  gift  is  an  inspiration !  I  did  not 
know  a  man  was  capable  of  such  delightful  sentiment. 
And  Dorothy  will  be  touched  to  the  heart  by  your 
pathetic  little  effort  to  share  your  happiness  with  the 
dear  mother  who  is  absent." 

His  face  cleared.  "  Thank  you !  "  he  said.  "  I  see 
no  one  wears  lockets  at  the  throat  now,  so  I  got  this 
to  suspend  it  from."  He  rose  to  bring  from  his  pocket 
a  box.  The  bell  rang,  but  they  did  not  notice  it,  and 
the  man  going  to  the  door  in  his  ancient  and  wonder- 
fully cut  mulberry  livery  for  once  failed  to  wring  sur- 
reptitious laughter  from  the  young  visitor.  The  box 
held  a  heavy  chain  bracelet  of  gold. 

"  Goodness !  "  cried  Sybil,  "  don't  put  that  on  Dor- 
rie's  left  arm,  or  you  will  break  it  again !  "  Then,  as 
he  slipped  the  gifts  back  into  his  pocket,  she  said: 
"  Leslie,  dear,  they  are  beautiful !  Dorothy  will  be  de- 
lighted, and  I  love  you  because  you  are  so  good  to 
her !  "  She  took  his  face  between  her  hands,  and, 
reaching  up,  kissed  his  cheek,  and  Stewart  Thrall,  un- 
announced, entering  the  front  room,  saw  her,  and  stood 
stock  still,  while  a  sick  qualm  of  jealousy  drained  the 
color  from  his  face  and  turned  his  hands  to  ice. 

Then,  like  one  cruelly  wounded  by  a  treachery,  he 
recalled,  with  fierce  anger,  those  seemingly  honest 
words,  "  I  never  had  a  lover  in  my  life !  "  and,  out  of  a 
momentary  darkness  about  him,  came  the  clear  voice 
of  Sybil,  saying:  "  You  are  not  looking  well  this  morn- 
ing, Mr.  Thrall." 

251 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

Being  coldly  assured  he  was  quite  as  well  as  usual, 
she  went  on :  "  Let  me  introduce  Mr.  Gait,  of  whom  I 
am  very  proud,  because  I  never  had  a  brother  until 
Dorothy  presented  me  with  this  one." 

The  sudden  lighting  of  the  new-comer's  face,  was 
startling  as  he  turned  his  brilliant  eyes  on  Gait  and 
crushed  his  hand  in  hearty  greeting.  "  Let  me  offer 
congratulations,"  he  smiled.  "  Indeed,  you  should  be 
doubly  congratulated,  your  position  is  so  much  more 
secure  and  agreeable  as  a  brother  to  this  young  lady 
than  it  would  have  been  had  she  'been  a  sister  to 
you.' " 

"  Oh !  "  laughed  Sybil,  "  he  never  gave  me  a  chance 
to  make  him  that  offer !  There's  no  flitting  from  flower 
to  flower  about  a  Gait !  They  may  be  a  bit  cool  and 
hard,  but  they  are  true !  " 

Thrall  winced  at  the  unconscious  thrust.  She  slipped 
her  hand  under  Leslie's  arm,  and,  giving  it  a  little 
squeeze,  added :  "  You  see,  I've  been  studying  up  your 
family  records  along  with  those  of  the  Montagues  and 
Capulets." 

After  a  few  courteous  words  the  men  saluted,  and 
Sybil  went  on  out  into  the  hall  with  Leslie,  to  give  some 
final  message  for  Dorothy  before  saying  good-by. 

And  Thrall  walked  to  a  window  and  leaned  his  head 
against  the  cool  glass.  He  closed  his  eyes  and  mut- 
tered to  himself :  "  Good  God !  Good  God !  "  and  yet 
again,  in  utter  helplessness,  "  Good  God ! "  He  re- 
called that  sick  jealousy,  the  almost  insensate  rage, 
that  had  possessed  him  at  the  sight  of  that  innocent 
caress,  and  said  to  himself :  "  It  is  useless  to  deny  it 

252 


Seeking  Refuge  from  the  Storm 

longer,  I  love  that  child  blindly,  stupidly,  senselessly !  " 
Then  he  lifted  his  head  quickly,  indignantly  saying: 
"  No !  no !  that  would  mean  infatuation — the  besotting, 
mere  physical  attraction,  that  men  who  are  not  Gaits 
yield  to,  and  repent  of  so  swiftly !  No !  In  her,  I  love 
the  dear  ideal  I  sought  and  dreamed  of  in  young  man- 
hood. It  is  the  purity,  the  joyous  spirit,  the  high  am- 
bition, the  unawakened  power  of  loving,  and  the 
beauty — the  sullen,  smiling,  changing  beauty — that 
charms,  holds,  and  fascinates  me!  Oh,  yes!  I  love 
her — no  doubt  left  of  that.  And  principally  because 
she  has  no  right  in  it  at  all  she  is  becoming  the  ruling 
factor  of  my  life.  I  knew  the  danger  to  myself  of  this 
daily  close  companionship ;  yet  that  being  the  devil's 
plan  and  he  my  honored  master,  I  pretended  doubt  of 
Mordaunt's  skill,  and  took  the  task  of  training  into  my 
own  hands.  And  now — well,  self-deception  being 
over,  I  must  trust  to  my  powers  of  dissembling  to  hide 
from  her  the  longing  love  that  may  only  speak  through 
lips  dead  three  hundred  years  ago.  Ah,  Will !  sweet 
Will  Shakspere!  you  were  ever  a  warm  lover;  but, 
depend  upon  it,  your  glowing  words  will  not  be  the 
cooler  from  my  delivery  of  them !  " 

He  laughed  at  his  own  fancy,  and  Sybil,  returning, 
said :  "I'm  glad  to  hear  that  laugh,  Mr.  Thrall ;  for 
positively,  when  I  saw  you  first,  I  thought  you  looked 
almost  ill.  And,  see  how  unconsciously  selfish  one  can 
be,  I  was  quite  aware  of  a  fleeting  regret  for  a  lost  re- 
hearsal, when  my  better  self  came  forward  in  sym- 
pathy for  you !  But  you  will  observe  that  I  thought  of 
my  own  interests  first.  Humanity  must  be  very  disap- 

253 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

pointing  to  its  Creator !  What  on  earth  is  the  matter 
with  godmamma  ?  " 

Mrs.  Van  Camp,  with  ringed  hands  high  in  air,  was 
summoning  them  both  to  come  to  the  extension-room, 
from  whence  she  distantly  chaperoned  all  their  many 
and  prolonged  rehearsals.  "  Come !  come  quickly !  " 
she  cried.  "  You,  neither  of  you,  really  appreciate 
him!  And  you  will  doubt  my  assertions  unless  you 
hear  him  your  own  selves !  Hush !  hush !  "  She  lifted 
a  warning  finger,  and  they  drew  cautiously  near  to  the 
big  sun-flooded  window,  where,  on  his  perch,  standing 
on  one  foot,  the  other  curled  up  into  a  bluish  gray  ball, 
stood  Poll,  his  head  on  one  side,  a  white  film  drawn 
over  his  vicious  old  eye,  while,  in  a  rasping  voice,  he 
said,  over  and  over  again :  "  'Omeo !  'Omeo !  " 

"  Is  he  not  wonderful  ? "  whispered  his  adoring 
mistress. 

"  Why?  what?  "  began  Thrall. 

But  Sybil  shook  her  head  warningly,  and  even  while 
Mrs.  Van  Camp's  eyes  flashed  ominously  at  him  he 
understood,  and  exclaimed,  in  tones  of  amazed  ad- 
miration :  "  If  he  is  not  calling  Romeo,  I'm  a  sin- 
ner!" 

"'Omeo!  'Omeo!"  rasped  Poll,  and  Mrs.  Van 
Camp,  unable  to  restrain  herself  longer,  clasped  him 
to  her  bosom,  whereupon  he  yelled  and  swore  and 
screeched,  and  swallowed  two  buttons  from  the  front 
of  her  gown. 

"  Perhaps  they  will  kill  him  ?  "  hopefully  whispered 
Thrall. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!"  laughed  Sybil;  "they  do  him 
254 


Seeking  Refuge  from  the  Storm 

good !    He  has  bolted  nearly  half  a  string  of  beads  for 
me  since  I've  been  here !    Oh,  is  he  not  awful  ?  " 

Mrs.  Van  Camp  was  finally  forced  to  put  him  in  his 
cage  for  punishment,  and  to  quiet  him  a  blanket  was 
being  wrapped  about  the  top,  when  suddenly,  with  sur- 
prising distinctness,  he  croaked  "  Dead !  dead !  "  then 
"  'Omeo !  'Omeo !  "  again.  And  Mrs.  Van  Camp,  with 
emotion,  pressed  Thrall's  hands  and  kissed  Sybil,  and 
blessed  them  for  their  long  rehearsals,  that  were  end- 
ing in  instructing  her  dear,  dear  Polly !  And  the  pair 
writhed  in  a  very  anguish  of  suppressed  mirth,  until 
Mrs.  Van  Camp  went  back  to  her  embroidery,  and  their 
laughter  in  the  drawing-room  could  be  laid  to  the  ac- 
count of  "  acting." 

Next  day  Sybil  had  been  presented  to  the  company, 
on  the  stage  of  the  Globe.  She  was  being  announced 
as  an  amateur,  and  people  were  filled  with  wonder  that 
a  young  girl  could  pass  from  the  drawing-room  di- 
rectly to  the  stage.  But  her  first  scene  was  not  over 
before  some  knowing  smiles  and  glances  were  being 
exchanged,  and  one  of  the  actresses  was  saying: 
"Amateur — drawing-room?  Well,  she  is  from  the 
drawing-room,  no  doubt  of  that ;  but  she  has  halted  at 
some  other  theatre  before  reaching  this  one,  for  she  is 
no  amateur ! " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know !  "  argued  the  "  old  woman,"  who 
was,  of  course,  cast  for  the  Nurse.  "  I  find  her  quite 
novicey  in  the  '  business  '  of  our  scenes." 

"  That  may  be,"  replied  the  other  speaker,  a  blonde 
person,  referred  to  by  Roberts  as  "that  devil  di- 

255 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

vorcee !  "  the  first  term  alluding  to  her  malicious  tem- 
per, the  second  to  the  scandalous  divorce  that  preceded 
her  appearance  in  New  York.  "  It  may  be  that  she  is 
not  familiar  with  the  '  business '  of  Juliet,  but  did  you 
see  her  awhile  ago  looking  for  her  boa  ?  The  carpen- 
ter told  her  it  was  hanging  across  a  chair  on  the  '  o.  p.' 
side,  and  she  crossed  over  instantly  to  get  it?  To  an 
amateur  the  '  o.  p.'  side  would  have  been  Greek.  And 
when  something  was  said  about  '  the  borders,'  did  you 
see  how  quickly  she  looked  up  at  them?  Amateur? 
Call  up  the  marines  to  listen  to  that  yarn,  but  I  was  not 
born  yesterday ! " 

"  No,  dear !  "  pleasantly  acquiesced  the  other.  "  No 
one  who  has  seen  you  would  make  such  a  charge,  I'm 
sure!" 

"  Oh,  don't  be  too  clever,  for  your  own  good !  You 
shouldn't  waste  such  brilliant  bon-mots  on  a  mere 
actress ! " 

"  Merest  mere ! "  interrupted  a  voice  from  behind 
her.  "  Don't  glare  so,  you'll  spoil  your  beautiful  ex- 
pression. Good  Lord ! " 

For  the  angry  face  had  suddenly  wreathed  itself  in 
smiles,  and  the  divorcee  advanced  with  outstretched 
hand  to  meet  Sybil,  who,  the  scene  being  over,  was 
hesitating  which  way  to  turn. 

"  Come  and  sit  here  by  me,"  she  cooed.  "  Does  your 
throat  get  dry  from  long  speaking  ?  Mine  does."  And 
she  offered  a  beautiful  little  bonbonniere,  saying,  "  Try 
these  French  paste  troches,  they  are  delicious." 

And  the  actor,  Joseph  Grant,  who  detested  her,  said, 
aside  to  old  Mrs.  Elmer :  "  Do  you  see  that  ?  Manice 

256 


Seeking  Refuge  from  the  Storm 

is  not  getting  ready  to  pump,  is  she  ?  She'll  know  that 
pretty  girl's  history  clear  from  the  very  day  of  her  birth 
before  the  next  act  is  set." 

"  Not  if  Stewart  Thrall  is  as  clever  as  I  think  he  is. 
There !  "  chuckled  the  old  woman.  "  What  did  I  tell 
you  ?  Oh,  do  look  at  Manice's  face !  " 

For  Mr.  Thrall  had  suddenly  called  out,  seeing  who 
was  talking  to  her :  "  Miss  Lawton !  Here  I  am  in  the 
parquet.  Your  aunt  would  like  to  speak  to  you  during 
this  wait !  " 

And  no  one  guessed  that  the  white-haired,  upright 
old  person  attending  Sybil,  as  watchful  chaperon,  was 
really  only  Mrs.  Van  Camp's  ancient  maid,  who,  at  the 
instigation  of  Thrall,  had  been  commanded  thus  to 
masquerade.  And  the  papers  duly  noted :  "  That  the 
young  society  bud,  who  had  abandoned  all  social  de- 
lights for  love  of  art,  had  arrived  promptly  at  the  stage- 
door,  an  aristocratic,  white-haired  lady — a  relative — 
accompanying  her,  and  waiting  patiently  during  the 
entire  rehearsal,  thus  disposing  of  the  rumor  that 
her  family  was  bitterly  opposing  the  step  she  was 
taking." 

Truly  Thrall  was  pulling  the  wires,  even  the  very 
little  wires,  for  small  people  must  be  made  to  dance  as 
well  as  great  ones,  if  your  ball-room  is  to  present  a 
really  animated  appearance. 

Miss  Cora  Manice  was  not  in  the  bill,  and  her  un- 
necessary presence  at  rehearsals  met  with  such  frown- 
ing disapproval  from  Thrall  that  she  withdrew,  but 
with  a  furious  face  that  fully  presaged,  to  those  who 
understood,  the  tempest  that  burst  later  on,  in  that  pri- 

257 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

vate  office,  whose  secret,  shade-hung  door  was  never 
used. 

The  other  members  of  the  company  were  wholly  in- 
different as  to  whether  the  interloper  sank  or  swam. 
Jim  Roberts  stood  afar  off,  and  watched  with  burning, 
eager  eyes  every  movement  the  young  girl  made,  and 
his  swift  anticipation  of  her  slightest  wish  soon  at- 
tracted attention  and  comment;  and  one  day  some  fel- 
low said :  "  I  believe  Jim's  gone  back  on  Thrall,  at  last, 
and  has  taken  a  new  master." 

"  No,"  replied  Joseph  Grant,  "  you  mean  a  new  mis- 
tress !  "  and  this  exquisite  joke  almost  strangled  maker 
and  hearer  with  laughter. 

The  rehearsals  were  almost  over.  Scenery  and 
properties  took  up  much  time,  and  made  them  very 
wearying,  but  there  was  a  delightful  break  when 
Thrall  made  coffee  in  his  office,  and  with  Margaret, 
the  ancient  maid,  doing  propriety,  in  the  corner,  he 
served  his  "  queen  to  be  "  with  all  the  skill  of  a  French 
waiter,  and  all  the  tenderness  of  a  mother,  while,  with 
a  hearty  girl's  appetite,  she  disposed  of  dainty  sand- 
wiches, coffee,  and  fruit — save  on  that  one  day  when 
she  ran  out  and  gave  every  blessed  sandwich  there  was 
to  a  poor  waif  whom  she  saw  from  the  window. 

"  Why  did  you  not  give  him  money  ?  "  Thrall  asked. 

"  I  had  none,"  she  frankly  answered. 

"  You  should  have  told  me,  then  I  would  have  given 
him  something  for  you." 

She  frowned  a  bit,  and  answered :  "  He  would  not 
have  dared  enter  any  place  about  here,  and  I  could  not 
put  him  to  the  torture  of  waiting — forgive  me !  " 

258 


Seeking  Refuge  from  the  Storm 

And  one  day — one  threatening  day,  when  gas  was 
burning  everywhere,  so  dark  it  was — Thrall  told  him- 
self he  could  do  no  more  for  this  creature  who  had 
grown  so  precious  in  his  secret  sight.  Only  one  thing 
troubled  his  artistic  sense:  Sybil's  Juliet  was  a  trifle 
too  frank — too  boyishly  honest  in  her  love.  The  soft 
confusion,  the  flushing  cheek  and  drooping  eye,  that 
sweetly  contradict  the  open  plainness  of  her  speech, 
were  missing.  He  knew  why  it  was  so ;  and  when  the 
artist  in  him  asked  if  he  would  have  it  otherwise,  the 
man,  recalling  that  sick  qualm  of  jealousy,  answered : 
No ! no ! 

Rehearsal  being  over,  Sybil  had  sent  old  Margaret 
home  in  the  carriage  that  Thrall  had  hired  for  them, 
and  had  herself  turned  downtown  a  few  blocks,  and 
had  then  gone  across  to  a  little  shop,  where  stage  shoes 
were  to  be  tried  on. 

"  I'm  afraid  Mrs.  Van  Camp  will  be  angry  if  I  leave 
you,  Miss  Sybil,"  the  woman  had  protested.  "  There's 
an  awful  storm  coming  up,  too !  " 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  the  girl,  who  even  then  had  to 
hold  her  hat  on  with  both  hands,  so  high  was  the  wind. 
"  Go  on,  godmother  needs  you  at  once !  I'll  be  home  in 
no  time,  but  I  can't  leave  those  shoes  another  day.  Sup- 
pose they  should  be  wrong  in  some  way  ?  By-by !  " 
and,  laughing,  she  faced  the  tearing  wind. 

Coming  from  the  shop  she  felt  the  rain  begin  to  fall. 
She  fairly  flew  along  the  streets.  Two  cars  passed 
without  heeding  her  signal.  What  should  she  do?  The 
theatre?  She  had  a  right  to  seek  shelter  there,  surely, 
and  that  way  she  rushed.  A  sign  came  hurling 

259 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

through  the  air !  She  screamed,  and  the  next  moment 
dashed,  damp,  chill,  dishevelled,  into  the  vestibule. 

At  the  bang  of  the  great  door  young  Barney,  pale 
under  the  box-office  gas-light,  raised  his  head  and 
looked  through  the  little  window,  trying  to  see  who 
was  outside,  but  the  darkness  was  almost  that  of  night, 
and  Sybil,  catching  her  breath  in  gasps,  said :  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Mr.  Barney,  I — I  have  just  run  in  here 
for  shelter — it's  awful  outside!  Don't  you  know  me? 
I'm  Miss — Miss — "  She  stopped,  in  confusion.  A 
tall  man  was  stooping  to  peer  out  over  Barney's  shoul- 
der. Those  well-shaped,  amazingly  brilliant  eyes  were 
unmistakable.  Then  a  voice  of  incredulity,  of  pleased 
incredulity,  was  saying :  "  It's  not  Miss  Lawton,  alone 
in  this  fearful  storm,  surely  ?  " 

The  door  was  pulled  open,  and  through  the  out- 
streaming  light  came  Stewart  Thrall.  His  overcoat 
over  one  arm,  and  a  closely  furled  umbrella  in  the 
hand,  whose  finger  and  thumb  also  held  an  unlit  cigar, 
told  plainly  that  he  was  just  leaving,  that  had  she  been 
one  single  moment  later  she  would  have  found  only 
Barney  in  the  theatre. 

Only  one  moment,  but,  oh,  there  are  single  moments 
full,  replete,  and  pregnant  with  possibilities — moments 
that  may  bring  forth  results  dire  and  strange !  William 
Henry  Bulkley's  one  moment  had  been  sufficient  for 
the  mad  runaway  of  the  big  chestnut,  and  things  more 
terrible  than  horses  may  fiercely  break  away  from  all 
restraint  in  equally  brief  time. 

But  Sybil,  shaken,  breathless,  and  embarrassed  in 
the  dusk,  made,  unconsciously,  a  mental,  never-to-be- 

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Seeking  Refuge  from  the  Storm 

forgotten  portrait  of  Stewart  Thrall  standing  in  that 
informing  stream  of  light — handsome,  debonair,  stately 
of  height,  and  graceful  of  bearing,  and  on  his  face  that 
eager  look  that  made  it  strangely  young. 

He  held  his  hand  out :  "  Miss  Lawton,  is  it  really 
you  ?  Why — good  heaven,  you  are  wet  and  cold !  " 
The  wind  rattled  windows,  doors,  and  signs  so  that  she 
could  scarcely  hear  his  words;  but  the  warm  pressure 
of  his  clasping  hand  was  comforting  to  her.  "  Where 
is  your  carriage  ?  eh  ?  I  can't  hear  you !  " 

Something,  probably  a  billboard,  fell  with  a  crash 
against  the  door,  and  the  girl  gave  a  violent  start  of 
terror.  Suddenly  Thrall  turned,  still  holding  her  hand 
fast.  He  cast  his  coat,  umbrella,  and  cigar  into  the 
office,  saying  sharply  to  Barney :  "  I'm  not  here — to 
anyone !  You  understand  ?  " 

Barney  looked  up  inquiringly.  Their  eyes  met  fully, 
and  Thrall  repeated :  "  Not  to  anyone ! "  And,  closing 
the  box-office  door,  he  felt  for  the  baize  ones  leading 
to  the  auditorium,  pushed  one  leaf  open  and  entered, 
drawing  Sybil  after  him  by  the  hand.  As  it  closed  he 
reached  up  and  softly  pushed  the  bolt. 

Outside,  in  the  office,  Barney  stared  stupidly,  then 
began  a  double  shuffle,  chuckling  to  himself :  "  Oh,  wait 
till  Manice  gets  on  to  this !  But  one  of  these  days  the 
governor  will  stand  up  to  her,  and  then  she'll  get  a 
pointer  on  temper  that  will  astonish  her,  I  guess !  He's 
too  easy !  I  wish  he'd  chuck  her  out  of  the  company — 
spiteful,  bleached  cat !  "  Undoubtedly  a  very  vulgar- 
minded  boy  was  Barney. 

Inside  the  red  baize  doors  Sybil  was  amazed  to  find 
261 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

almost  perfect  silence.  The  auditorium,  being  in  the 
very  middle  of  the  building,  was  cut  off  from  outer 
sounds.  Even  the  wild  shriek  of  the  wind  was  greatly 
softened.  The  darkness  seemed  at  first  complete,  but 
the  accustomed  eye  could  see  a  faint  grayness  at  the 
stage  end  opposite  them. 

A  row  of  open  French  boxes  extended  across  the 
back  of  the  lower  circle.  Thrall  laid  his  hat  in  a  chair 
in  one  of  them  as  he  passed,  and  still  leading  Sybil, 
said,  in  a  cheerful,  matter-of-course  tone,  intended  to 
quiet  any  possible  uneasiness  of  mind :  "  This  way, 
Miss  Lawton !  Don't  be  afraid,  there  are  no  steps.  The 
register  is  right  in  this  corner,  and  there  is  at  least 
enough  heat  on  to  dry  your  damp  clothing.  It  would 
be  a  pretty  serious  thing,  my  young  lady,  for  you  to 
catch  cold  at  this  late  hour.  There,  you  can  feel  a  little 
hot  air,  can't  you  ?  " 

The  building  now  fairly  trembled  under  the  force 
of  the  gale,  and  Thrall,  with  a  tightening  of  his  fingers 
on  hers,  asked,  reproachfully :  "  In  God's  name,  child, 
what  induced  you  to  face  a  storm  like  this  ?  Tell  me." 

But  in  that  warm,  dark  silence  words  would  not 
come  easily.  She  murmured  something  about  "  god- 
mamma's  needing  Margaret's  services,"  paused,  added 
a  confused  assurance  that  her  "  stage  shoes  had  proved 
satisfactory,"  and  became  mute. 

The  empty  auditorium  was  vast,  the  white  linen 
hangings,  draping  boxes  and  dress-circle,  were  mys- 
terious as  the  swaying  mosses  of  a  Southern  swamp. 
A  sense  of  isolation  came  upon  her,  of  distance  from 
the  world.  She  did  not  seem  to  think  consecutively, 

262 


Seeking  Refuge  from  the  Storm 

but  in  broken,  fragmentary,  foolish  bits.  She  won- 
dered why  Mr.  Thrall  was  so  silent.  Was  it  be- 
cause— .  She  wondered  if  her  dress  was  drying  all 
around  evenly — if  her  boots  would  spoil  from  the  heat 
— her  mother  had  thought  them  expensive,  and — and 
how  many  nerves  and  pulses  did  one  girl  carry  about 
with  her?  And  why  need  they  all  quiver  and  beat  at 
the  same  time  ? 

She  drew  her  hand  gently  from  Thrall's,  but  he  took 
up  the  other  that  was  still  in  a  wet  and  clammy  glove. 
Silently,  deftly  unbuttoning  and  peeling  it  off,  he  softly 
chafed  the  little  member.  Sybil  drew  a  long,  slow 
breath — what  was  it  that  troubled  her  ? 

The  darkness  seemed  to  hide  something — secret, 
sweet !  A  strange,  evanescent  perfume  seemed  to  have 
been  left  out  there  by  beauty,  wealth,  and  fashion  !  In 
the  mingling  odors  of  rice-powder,  orris,  violet,  and 
fine  tobacco  in  the  close  warm  air  there  was  a  sensuous 
suggestion  of  eyes  and  smiles,  of  whispers  and  pressed 
hands!  The  potent  perfume  of  human  love  was  all 
about  her !  She  moved  restlessly.  "  I — the  heat !  my 
head !  "  she  whispered,  and  drew  away  from  him. 

He  put  his  foot  out  and  closed  the  register.  "  I — I 
must  go  now,"  she  slowly  added,  when  there  came  a 
sound — a  steady,  loud  sort  of  even  roar,  and  Thrall 
knew  a  very  deluge  of  icy  rain  must  be  descending 
upon  the  city  to  be  heard  so  plainly  there. 

"  Go  ?  "  he  queried,  gently.  "  Go  ?  Why,  my  child, 
you  could  not  stand  on  your  feet  a  moment — the  gale 
would  dash  you  to  the  earth.  Stay  here,  where  you 
are  safe." 

The  silence  closed  about  them  again,  yet  she  vaguely 
263 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

felt  there  was  no  calm  in  it — it  seemed  only  dormant. 
Then  dimly  it  came  to  her  to  ask  Mr.  Thrall  to  let  her 
go  to  the  box-office  to  wait,  when  suddenly  the  build- 
ing shook  as  a  toy  house  might  have  done,  and  there 
came  a  deafening,  rumbling  crash  above  their  very 
heads,  it  seemed,  though  truly  it  was  a  chimney  falling 
above  the  stage  roof,  and  Sybil's  one  wild  scream  of 
terror  was  smothered  on  Thrall's  breast ! 

"Don't,  don't,  my — !"  he  whispered,  hoarsely, 
holding  her  trembling  hand  to  his  lips  and  covering  it 
with  kisses.  "  Don't  shiver  so !  'Twas  nothing !  You 
are  quite  safe — quite  safe!  Sybil — Princess!  I'd 
shelter  you  in  my  arms,  and  guard  you  with  my  life — 
always  1  if  I  might !  if  I  might !  " 

His  arms  were  about  her.  The  dull  roar  of  the  rain 
was  like  the  roaring  from  a  distant  world — they  were 
alone — utterly  alone — in  the  dimness  warm  and  fra- 
grant. She  was  all  unstrung  and  weak  from  fright. 
His  words  seemed  half  real,  half  dreamed.  She  raised 
her  head — she  put  two  impotent  little  hands  against  his 
breast. 

"  Please !  "  she  gasped.  "  I  am  not  frightened  now ! 
I — "  A  strange  lassitude  was  upon  her.  A  door 
somewhere  banged  heavily — she  shivered  as  at  a  blow ! 
Her  head  sank  back  upon  his  breast.  He  bent  over  her, 
his  face  all  passion-pale,  his  heavy,  drooping  lids  be- 
traying their  girl-like  length  of  lashes. 

"  Sybil !  "  he  breathed. 

Her  eyes,  wide  and  startled,  met  his.  "  Sybil !  "  he 
entreated.  "  Sweetheart !  "  His  lips  met  hers  in  one 
long,  tender  kiss,  and  the  house  rocked  in  the  fury  of 
the  gale ! 

264 


CHAPTER  XXII 

PREPARING  THE  PIT 

For  some  time  the  question  troubling  the  Lawton 
family  had  been  how  and  where  to  establish  Sybil  for 
the  term  of  her  engagement  at  the  Globe.  Returning 
to  Woodsedge  after  performances  was  not  to  be 
thought  of.  No,  a  residence  in  the  city  was  an  abso- 
lute necessity. 

Mrs.  Lawton  indignantly  wondered  if  Sybil  Van 
Camp  had  ever  realized  that  a  sort  of  deputy-mater- 
nity devolved  upon  a  godmother — a  term  that  had 
taken  Leslie  Gait,  who  was  sharing  the  family  coun- 
cil, out  of  the  room  in  search  of  a  handkerchief  in  his 
overcoat  pocket.  At  which  Mrs.  Lawton  gloomily  ex- 
pressed a  fear  of  his  "  becoming  a  fussy  old  man  in 
time,  because,"  said  she,  "  Leslie  had  a  handkerchief  in 
his  breast  pocket  that  might  easily  have  served  his  pur- 
pose. Now,  Dorothy,"  she  continued,  "  take  a  mother's 
advice,  and  check  at  once  any  symptom  of  faddish- 
ness  that  appears  in  him,  or  he'll  have  you  in  heelless 
shoes  or  on  a  milk  diet,  or  something  of  that  sort,  be- 
fore you  know  it.  But  really,  dear,  you  shouldn't  inter- 
rupt. [Leslie  returned  to  his  seat  here.]  The  question 
at  this  moment  is,  what  is  to  become  of  your  unfortu- 
nate sister;  for  though  she  has  cast  in  her  lot  with 

365 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

'  mere  players,'  and  has  rejected  the  comfort  and  sweet 
privacy  of  home  life,  it  does  not  follow  that  she  is  pre- 
pared to  pass  the  rest  of  her  life  upon  the  unsheltered, 
stony  streets  of  the  city.  What  is  the  matter  with  you, 
Leslie  ?  You  are  not  in  need  of  another  handkerchief, 
are  you  ?  As  I  was  saying  when  someone  interrupted 
me,  I  doubt  if  Sybil  Van  Camp  ever  had  any  idea  of  the 
duties  of  a  godmother." 

"  Rattle,"  counted  Sybil  on  her  fingers,  "  silver  mug, 
corals " 

"  Given  long  ago !  "  triumphed  Dorothy. 

"  Renouncing  the  devil  for  you,"  went  on  Sybil, 
"  and  seeing  that  you  knew  creed,  prayers,  command- 
ments, and  church  catechism " 

"  Which  she  didn't  do !  "  cried  Mrs.  Lawton ;  "  for 
I  have  heard  your  father  bribing  you  many  a  time  to 
learn  and  repeat  them  to  him.  And  now,  if  she  had 
any  appreciation  of  the  duties  devolving  upon  her, 
would  she  not  open  her  home  to  her  goddaughter,  and 
shelter  her  for  a  brief  period  from  the  perils  of  the 
city?" 

"  Upon  my  word,  mamma,"  laughed  Sybil,  "  if  you 
keep  on  in  that  strain  I'll  drop  down  on  all  fours  and 
beg  for  a  bone.  Anyone  would  think  you  were  speak- 
ing of  a  homeless  dog.  Godmother  Van  Camp  has 
done  more  for  me  than  I  can  ever  repay,  and  she  has 
invited  me  to  stay  in  her  house  during  my  engagement, 
but  it  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  Why,  papa,  dear,  I  am 
now  quite  turning  the  household  topsy-turvey  by  the 
irregularity  of  my  hours.  Rehearsals  may  be  short,  or 
they  may  be  long.  The  cook  gets  cross,  and  god- 

266 


Preparing  the  Pit 


mamma  gets  anxious.  Her  daily  life  is  regulated  like 
a  railroad  schedule  for  precision  and  exactitude  of  time. 
Then,  when  acting  once  begins,  the  watching  for  my 
late  return  at  night  would  be  a  cruel  penance  to  god- 
mamma  and  ancient  Margaret  and  the  butler  Murphy, 
who  is  the  greatest  old  woman  of  the  lot.  No,  I  can't 
think  of  so  desecrating  that  last  retreat  of  all  the  Knick- 
erbocker proprieties ;  but,  in  a  boarding-house " 

"  A  barracks !  "  said  Leslie.  "  Oh,  I  know  all  about 
boarding-houses  and  their  keepers,  from  the  black- 
bugled  lady  with  ancestors  down  to  the  loud-voiced, 
false-fronted  person  who  makes  her  husband  eat  in  the 
kitchen,  and  I  tell  you  a  boarding-house  is  quite  out  of 
the  question  for  you." 

"  That's  just  what  Mr.  Thrall  said,"  eagerly  inter- 
rupted Sybil,  "  when  the  matter  was  mentioned  in  his 
presence.  And  he  knows  a  woman,  whom  he  has  em- 
ployed for  years  as  a  wardrobe  woman  and  sort  of  gen- 
eral dresser,  to  help  those  ladies  who  have  no  maids  of 
their  own.  She  is  a  widow,  and  she  owns — mortgaged, 
of  course — one  of  those  old-fashioned,  two-and-a-half- 
story,  red-brick  basemented  houses " 

"  Take  a  breath,,  Syb !  "  laughed  Dorothy. 

"  That's  a  gem,"  gravely  asserted  Gait,  "  that  de- 
scriptive sentence  is.  Spoken  rapidly  it  does  leave  the 
impression  that  the  widow  is  mortgaged  and  a  doubt  as 
to  the  red  brick  reaching  beyond  the  basement.  But 
when  one  writes  it  all  out,  and  punctuates  care- 
fully  " 

"  Leslie  Gait,  my  young  brother !  Will  you  remem- 
ber that  you  are  still  on  probation?  Final  vows  have 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

not  yet  been  administered.  Though  under  instruction, 
you  have  not  yet  been  admitted  into  the  Lawton  com- 
munity for  life ! " 

"  That's  about  the  only  thing  I  do  remember  at  all 
clearly  these  days,"  answered  Gait,  smiling  meaningly 
at  Dorothy. 

But  John  Lawton  rumpled  his  thin  hair,  and  said, 
anxiously :  "  Let's  get  back  to  that  mortgaged  house, 
daughter — it's  most  train  time  for  you,  dear." 

"  Well,"  went  on  Sybil,  drawing  her  father's  hand 
about  her  neck  as  she  spoke,  "  her  name  is — is,  oh, 
something  with  an  S,  Mrs. — Stow — Stover — Stine — 
Sty — Stivers !  that's  it !  Mrs.  Jane  Stivers — odd,  isn't 
it,  papa?  And  she " 

"  My  dear  child,"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Lawton,  some- 
what wearily,  "  why  will  you  not  adopt  my  method  of 
remembering  names  ?  It's  so  embarrassing  at  times  to 
have  a  cognomen  escape  you,  just  when  you  feel  it,  too, 
on  the  tip  of  your  tongue,  but  can't  get  it  off.  Now,  I 
always  associate  a  name  with  a  thing  or  an  action  or 
an  idea,  and  the  result  is  I  never  have  to  go  skipping 
through  the  alphabet  as  you  and  Dorothy  do.  I  recall 
the  case  of  Mrs. — Mrs. — dear  me !  Mrs. — you  know, 
girls,  to  whom  I  refer — that  woman  I  disliked  so.  I 
like  most  people,  but  she  was  underbred — at  One 
Hundredth  Street  ?  You  must  remember  her  perfectly. 
I  know  at  the  time  I  associated  her  name  with  some- 
thing— er — er,  something  she  hated.  Now,  what  did 
that  woman  hate?  Her  husband  was  bandy — polite 
enough,  but  bandy,  and  he  had  a  cross  eye !  Something 
she  hated — now  what  ?  " 

26$ 


Preparing  the  Pit 


"  Perhaps  she  hated  anything  very  straight,"  laughed 
Dorothy.  "  I  think  I  should  under  the  circumstances !  " 

"  There !  "  broke  in  Mrs.  Lawton.  "  What  did  I  tell 
you?  Straight — she  hated  anything  straight,  because 
her  name  was  Crook !  And  Mr.  Crook  was  cross-eyed ! 
It's  infallible,  my  system!  But  do  get  on,  Sybil,  or 
really  you  will  lose  that  train !  " 

"  Well,  papa ! "  said  the  girl,  in  a  quivering  voice, 
"  Mrs.  Stivers's  house  is — Mr.  Thrall  says — fairly 
near  the  theatre.  It  is  quiet  as  a  church,  and  in  a  most 
respectable  quarter.  She  has  been  in  the  habit  of  rent- 
ing the  second  floor  to  student  lodgers.  She  has  never 
kept  regular  boarders,  but  Mr.  Thrall  thinks  she  might, 
for  a  few  dollars  increase  in  the  rent,  take  me  in,  in- 
stead, and  do  for  me.  He  uses  so  many  Englishy  ex- 
pressions in  ordinary  conversation.  He  says  her  age, 
character,  and  habits  would  recommend  her,  and  an- 
other advantage  would  be  that  I  could  go  home  nights 
under  her  wing,  without  troubling  Mr.  Roberts  for  es- 
cort, who  lives  in  the  opposite  direction.  The  parlor, 
he  says,  is  given  over  to  horse-hair.  Mrs.  Stivers  was 
married  during  the  mahogany  reign  of  terror,  you  see. 
But  I  could  do  what  I  liked  in  my  own  room,  to  mod- 
ernize. And,  mamma,  he  proposes,  as  she  can't  come 
from  her  work  out  here,  to  be  interviewed  by  you,  that 
you  authorize  Mrs.  Van  Camp  [Letitia  straightened  up 
in  her  chair]  to  receive  her  and  talk  the  matter  over, 
and  then  to  report  to  you  for  your  decision." 

Mrs.  Lawton  closed  her  eyes,  and  said,  impressively : 
"  A  most  sensible  suggestion  from  a  man  tres  comme 
ilfaut!" 

269 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

To  Sybil's  questioning  eyes  Mr.  Lawton  answered : 
"  Yes,  dear !  That  has  a  promising  sound.  What  do 
you  think,  Leslie  ?  " 

"  I  agree  with  you,  sir,  if  the  woman  is  kindly  dis- 
posed. The  fact  of  her  working  in  the  theatre  should 
be  a  distinct  advantage.  The  question  is,  will  she  board 
as  well  as  lodge  her  guest?  For  even  if  a  restaurant 
were  next  door  Sybil  is  far  too  pretty  a  girl  to  pass  in 
and  out  unnoticed." 

"  So  very  like  me,"  breathed  Letitia.  "  It's  the  Bas- 
sett  coloring,  I  think,  that  attracts  the  public  eye." 

"Dorothy!"  exclaimed  Sybil,  turning  from  adjust- 
ing her  hat  before  the  dim  old  mirror,  "  my  descend- 
ants shall  rise  up  and  call  you  blessed,  for  in  the  fine 
art  of  selecting  a  brother  for  your  only  sister  you  take 
th«  cake.  Oh,  papa !  I  beg  your  pardon !  I — I  meant 
sfie  wins  the  laurel !  " 

"  Sybil !  "  moaned  Mrs.  Lawton,  distressfully,  "  I 
don't  wish  to  rebuke  you  at  the  very  moment  of  leave- 
taking,  but,  my  very  dear  child,  you  must  really  check 
your  tendency  toward  reckless  speech.  To  allude  to 
your  descendants  when  you  are  not  yet  even  engaged 
is  not  far  from  indelicacy;  and,  Dorothy,  causeless 
laughter  is  rightly  esteemed  a  proof  of  bad  manners. 
Good-by,  my  dear;  say  to  Mrs.  Van  Camp  I  am 
quite  unable  to  go  to  the  city  in  this  cold  weather, 
and  must  therefore  ask  her  to  act  for  me  in  the  case 
of  Mrs. — er,  I  don't  think  I  quite  caught  the  name? 
Eh?  oh,  Stivers — yes,  I  shall  easily  remember  that 
by  connecting  it  with  a  saying  contradicted." 

"  A  what,  mamma?  "  laughed  the  girls. 
270 


Preparing  the  Pit 


"  Stivers  ?  "  repeated  Gait,  meditatively,  "  a  '  saying 
contradicted ! '  I  can't  find  the  connection.  It's  a 
mystery — impenetrable !  " 

"  Dear  me !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lawton,  "  it's  very 
simple.  You  need  just  say  to  yourself  '  not  worth  a 
stiver ' — there's  your  saying ;  but  she  owns  a  house, 
there's  your  contradiction,  and  you  have  the  name  as 
quickly  as  possible.  Yes,  I  shall  always  remember 
the  name  Stivers !  " 

"  If,"  slowly  put  in  John,  "  if  you  don't  happen  to 
forget  '  the  saying.'  " 

And  good-by  being  said,  with  arms  about  waists 
the  sisters  held  in  the  hall  one  of  those  secret  con- 
claves over  only  heaven  and  themselves  knew  what, 
but  without  which  they  were  never  known  to  part  for 
more  than  twenty-four  hours. 

Then  with  her  moon  face  all  red  with  heat  and 
hurry  Lena  rushed  out  with  a  package  of  hot  cookies, 
crying :  "  I  bake  dem  cake  youst  by  der  train  time, 
und  dere  blazes  hot !  But  I  tie  'em  mit  a  long  string 
so  you  don't  com'  burnt  by  der  hants ! " 

Mrs.  Lawton  came  to  the  door  and  indignantly  de- 
manded :  "  What  folly  and  presumption  is  this,  Lena 
Klippert?  Retire  at  once  and  take  your  obnoxious 
offering  with  you !  " 

"  Den  you  don'  vant  dem  cookies,  my  Miss  Lady  ? 
You  tink  I  com'  by  der  cheek,  uf  I  bring  'em  here  ?  " 
poor  Lena  quavered,  shamefacedly. 

But  Sybil  fitted  the  looped  string  over  her  finger 
and  flashed  a  radiant  smile  at  the  faithful  little  German 
drudge,  and,  dangling  the  package  in  the  air,  quoted : 

2/1 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

"  '  This  little  pig  went  to  market ! '  Just  wait  till  to- 
night, Lena,  when  I'm  alone  in  my  room,  and  the 
little  pig  will  have  cookies,  eh?  " 

"  Ja !  ja !  "  nodded  and  smiled  Lena.  "  You  com' 
make  very  fine  little  pig,  Miss  Sybbils ;  sometimes  you 
can  com'  black,  but  ven  you  smiles,  your  lips  youst 
curl  up  like  a  flower !  " 

And,  amid  general  laughter,  Sybil  departed  for  the 
city  with  Leslie  doing  escort  duty,  while  John  and 
Dorothy  Lawton  received  an  informing  lecture  upon 
the  structure,  quality,  and  quantity  of  brain  to  be 
found  in  the  low-class  Germans  that  nicely  filled  up 
the  rest  of  their  afternoon. 

At  Mrs.  Van  Camp's  house  Sybil's  return  was  fol- 
lowed almost  immediately  by  the  announcement  from 
the  wearer  of  the  mulberry  livery  of :  "A  person — an 
elderly  female  person — to  see  you,  ma'am;  by  ap- 
pointment, she  claims,  ma'am.  Show  her  up?  Yes, 
ma'am.  Hem !  if  you'll  excuse  the  boldness — Mr. 
Poll's  in  the  library,  and  he  do  be  swearing  awful, 
beyond  anythink,  ma'am.  What  for  is  it?  Why, 
ma'am,  someone — I  suppose  it's  the  young  lady, 
ma'am — put  a  shaving-glass  in  his  cage,  and  he's  been 
cussin'  of  he'self  ever  since  he  laid  eyes  on  it.  Shall 
I  be  carryin'  him  to  the  basement,  or  covering  him 
up?  I  don't  know.  Yes,  ma'am,  I'll  take  him  down 
as  you  say."  And  a  few  moments  later  he  returned, 
haughtily  ushered  in  Mrs.  Jane  Stivers,  and  retired. 

Sybil,  entering  by  the  opposite  door,  saw  a  thin, 
elderly  woman,  whose  dark  hair  sprinkled  with  gray 
and  banded  smoothly  down  over  each  ear,  whose 

272 


Preparing  the  Pit 


small,  dark  eyes,  whose  thin,  pale  -  lipped,  closely 
closed  mouth,  and  long,  drooping  nose  spelled  as 
plainly  as  letters  could  the  word — discreet.  Her 
black  gown  and  unspeakably  respectable  bonnet,  her 
thick  but  plain  cloak,  her  neat  cashmere  gloves,  were 
all  prim  adjuncts  to  that  picture  of  discretion.  She 
stood  in  true  servant-like  attitude,  eyes  down  and 
hands  crossed  at  the  exact  waist-line;  and  as  Sybil 
reached  her  godmother's  side  that  lady,  raising  her 
glasses  to  look  at  the  stranger,  said :  "  Mrs.  Stivers, 
I  wish  to — why  !  why !  you're  Martin — you  are  surely 
Jane  Martin  ?  "  and  sat  staring. 

"  Yes,  Madam  Van  Camp,"  she  replied,  "  I  am  Jane 
that  was  in  your  sewing-room  three  years  and  more. 
I  didn't  think  you'd  remember  a  servant's  face  so 
long,  so  I  didn't  tell  Mr.  Thrall  I'd  been  in  your  ser- 
vice. My  husband  was  a  boss  carpenter  in  a  theatre, 
and  that  took  me  there.  Me  being  a  good  needle- 
woman, I  got  work  in  the  wardrobe,  and  gradually 
learned  the  business  thorough-like ;  and  when  my 
husband  died,  as  I  wanted  to  hold  on  to  the  house,  I 
began  taking  lodgers  as  well  as  working  at  the  the- 
atre, so  as  to  pay  off  the  mortgage  some  time,  I  do 
hope,  ma'am." 

Both  women  sighed  sympathetically  as  they  listened 
to  Mrs.  Stivers's  calm  and  self-controlled  statement 
of  her  financial  and  professional  situation,  little  dream- 
ing that  the  oppressive  mortgage  existed  only  in  the 
imagination  of  the  undemonstrative  widow,  who 
found  it  too  powerful  a  lever  in  raising  the  rent  of 
rooms,  in  raising  her  salary,  and  in  raising  the  hats 

273 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

of  compassionate  observers — to  be  willingly  aban- 
doned. 

But  though  the  house  mortgage  had  been  cancelled 
long  ago,  she  was  then  by  way  of  secretly  placing  a 
mortgage  upon  her  own  character  for  upright  hon- 
esty, for  sincerity,  for  honor.  True,  there  was  no 
overt  agreement  to  dupe  a  young  girl  and  to  circum- 
vent her  friends;  yet  if  she  made  no  slip,  trip,  or 
blunder  in  this  matter  intrusted  to  her,  she  surely 
knew  that  at  its  end  Stewart  Thrall,  who  guided,  gov- 
erned, and  controlled  her,  would  hold  first  mortgage 
on  her  character,  since  by  tacit,  unspoken  agreement 
she  would  become  a  living  surveillance,  a  personified 
treachery,  while  still  deceptively  wearing  the  livery 
of  prim  respectability  and  honest  labor. 

Now,  Mrs.  Van  Camp  asked  the  woman  to  be  seat- 
ed; expressed  regret  for  her  bereavement,  and,  be- 
cause of  the  excellent  impression  Jane  Martin  had 
made  upon  her  in  the  past,  looked  with  unusually 
lenient  eyes  upon  Jane  Stivers  of  the  present,  and  ac- 
cepted readily  her  statements,  and  trustingly  saw  in 
her  rectitude,  her  intelligence,  and  her  respectful  and 
deferential  manner  the  most  desirable  sort  of  com- 
bination— landlady,  maid,  and  sheep-dog. 

When  terms  came  to  be  considered,  though  they 
seemed  surprisingly  easy,  Sybil  nervously  checked 
Mrs.  Van  Camp's  acceptance  of  them,  saying  that  her 
salary  hardly  justified  such  an  outlay. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Lawton,  if  you'll  pardon  the  interrup- 
tion," said  Jane  Stivers,  "  your  salary  will  be  quite 
a  different  thing  when  you  begin  playing  Juliet. 

274 


Preparing  the  Pit 


Anyone  would  know  that,  as  a  mere  matter  of  course. 
But  besides  that,  when  Mr.  Thrall  did  me  the  service 
of  mentioning  this  matter,  he  honored  my  little  home 
with  a  call,  and  as  he  was  going  he  puts  on  his  hat 
and  says :  '  And  I  must  have  now  a  bit  of  a  business 
talk  with  our  little  Royal  Princess  ' — that's  you,  Miss ; 
theatrical  people  are  great  for  tagging  folks  with 
names,  be  you  high  or  be  you  low — you're  bound  to 
get  a  tag ;  even  I,  miss,  have  been  '  Jane  Penny '  ever 
since  some  rattle-brain  found  that  Stiver  was  Dutch 
for  a  penny." 

Sybil  recalled  her  mother's  old  saying,  "  Not  worth 
a  stiver,"  and  laughed,  while  Jane  went  on. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  he  said  he  must  have  a  little  talk 
with  the  Royal  Princess  and  add  a  cipher  to  her  salary, 
so  she  could  settle  down  with  a  quiet  mind,  free  for 
Juliet  alone." 

And  on  the  strength  of  that  report  Mrs.  Van  Camp 
accepted  the  offered  terms,  but  advised  Sybil  to  run 
over  with  Martin,"  as  she  would  call  her,  "  to  look 
at  the  apartments  and  ascertain  if  there  was  a  sun 
exposure  for  at  least  one  room;  and  whether  the 
drains  were  all  right,  and  the  gas-pipes  innocent  of 
dangerous  leakage." 

And  Sybil — the  wish  being  father  to  the  thought — 
declared  the  house  quite  perfect.  Mrs.  Lawton  was 
notified  by  letter,  and  while  awaiting  her  answer  a 
"  lightning-change  artist "  had  been  at  work  upon 
walls  and  floor  of  the  front  room.  The  drab  and  blue 
horror  of  the  wall  had  become  a  clear  primrose  yel- 
low with  white  enamelled  picture-rails.  The  floor 

275 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

being  of  old,  badly  matched  pine-boards,  and  there 
being  no  time  for  painting  or  staining,  was  completely 
covered  with  a  dull  grayish-green  carpet,  with  pure 
white  rugs  before  sofa,  writing-desk,  etc. ;  and  with 
flowing  white  curtains  with  broad  primrose  ribbon- 
ties  and  a  white-framed  rocker  with  cushion  of  gray- 
ish green,  flowered  over  with  pale  primroses.  These 
changes  made  so  magical  an  effect  that  Sybil,  coming 
on  the  third  day  to  take  possession,  stood  astounded. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  evenly  admitted  Jane  Stivers,  "  it 
was  a  bit  of  a  rush,  and  I  could  not  manage  to  get  the 
second  room  done  so  quickly.  The  expense?  Oh, 
I  have  been  saving  up  for  months  for  the  express 
purpose  of  doing  up  my  rooms." 

But  Sybil  was  amazed  at  the  artistic  taste  shown 
here ;  it  was  in  such  strange  contrast  to  the  black  hair- 
cloth, the  shiny  white  and  gold  paper,  the  wax  flowers 
of  the  parlor,  that  yet  evidently  filled  Jane's  soul  with 
pride. 

"  Whom  did  you  advise  with,  Mrs.  Stivers  ?  "  she 
asked,  as  her  fingers  stroked  the  flowered  cushion. 

"  No  one.  I  did  it  all  myself."  Then,  as  a  quick 
side-glance  caught  the  unbelief  on  her  lodger's  face, 
she  added :  "  No,  I  don't  know,  on  second  thought, 
but  what  I  did  get  a  hint  about  the  color  you  would 
be  likely  to  favor.  I  recall  now  that  Mr.  Thrall  re- 
marked, seeing  that  paper  hanging  in  the  dealer's 
window :  '  What  a  fine  background  for  some  dark- 
haired  woman.'  So  I  just  caught  the  idea,  as  you 
may  say." 

"  You  are  a  very  clever  woman,  I  see,"  answered 
276 


Preparing  the  Pit 

Sybil,  who  went  joyously  about  her  unpacking,  look- 
ing every  ten  minutes  from  the  window  for  Dorothy, 
who  was  coming  with  home  photographs,  Lena's  per- 
sonally constructed  pillow-sham  with  a  large  blue 
cotton  "  S.  L."  worked  in  the  middle,  a  beautiful  old 
paper-knife  from  papa,  a  silver  powder-box  from 
Leslie,  and  two  pretty  but  broken  fans  from  mamma, 
who  thought  they  would  decorate  a  room  nicely,  giv- 
ing quite  a  little  studio-like  touch — all  to  be  used  in 
"  homing  the  rooms,"  as  Dorothy  put  it. 

Godmamma  Van  Camp  sent  three  really  precious 
old  engravings  that  Dorothy,  with  hat  still  on,  went 
about  rapturously  holding  up  against  the  clear  yel- 
low wall,  smacking  her  young  lips  as  though  she  were 
tasting  something. 

The  most  exciting  moment  of  the  girls'  day  was 
when  going  into  the  second  room  Dorothy  pointed 
to  a  corner  cabinet  and  said:  "What's  that,  Syb?" 

"  What's  what  ?  "  asked  that  person  from  near  the 
bottom  of  the  trunk  Jane  was  waiting  to  remove  to 
the  attic. 

"That  in  the  corner?" 

Sybil  rose,  red  and  hot,  and  looked  while  Jane 
pulled  the  trunk  out.  Then  she  exclaimed :  "  Why, 
that  was  not  there  when  I  came  to  look  at  the  rooms 
first ! "  She  went  over  to  it.  A  small  visiting-card 
was  attached  to  the  key — the  card  of  Stewart  Thrall. 
She  opened  the  cabinet  door  and  revealed  a  coffee 
outfit.  Two  cries  of  delight  arose ;  alcohol  was  sent 
for — the  picnic  was  on! 


277 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

In  Africa  when  a  creature  is  too  mighty  for  the 
hunters,  the  wily  natives  contrive  a  great  trap — they 
dig  a  deep  pit,  and  then  cover  it  over  with  frail  green 
boughs  and  grasses,  until  it  looks  like  the  rest  of  the 
green  matted  ground  about  it.  They  are  careful,  too, 
to  place  this  trap  in  the  neighborhood  of  some  rush- 
ing river  or  some  stilly  pool  where  in  the  moonlight 
or  at  earliest  flush  of  dawn  the  great  creature  must 
go  to  lap  the  cooling  water.  Then,  when  it  has 
crashed  through  into  helpless  captivity,  the  small  cun- 
ning enemy  may  work  their  will  upon  it. 

Now,  the  strange  thing  is — this  cruel  and  treacher- 
ous practice  is  not  confined  to  Africa.  Sometimes 
pits  are  dug  before  young  feet  and  carefully  hidden 
beneath  boughs  of  friendship  and  flowers  of  love. 
Right  here  in  our  great  city,  if  we  listen  closely,  we 
may  hear  the  crashing  fall  of  the  victim ! 


278 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE   WOMAN    IN    THE   BOX 

At  the  Globe  Theatre  they  were  settling  down  to 
a  long  and  brilliant  run.  Thrall  had  staged  the  old 
play  splendidly,  costumed  it  royally,  rehearsed  it  to 
exact  precision  of  movement,  and  cast  it  with  such 
knowledge,  such  consideration  for  the  requirements 
of  each  character  that  the  fiery  Tybalt,  the  stately 
Prince,  the  benignant  Friar  Laurence,  and  the 
grotesque  Peter  were  not  more  judiciously  placed 
than  the  Apothecary,  Gregory,  or  the  Page.  "  Romeo 
and  Juliet "  had  "  caught  the  town  " ;  for  once  the 
matinee  girl  had  two  idols  in  the  same  theatre.  Never, 
never  had  Thrall  been  so  raved  over.  In  his  desire 
to  make  himself  look  as  youthful  as  possible  for  the 
early  acts,  he  had  permitted  the  Lefebvres  to  costume 
him  in  white,  from  his  cap  and  floating  ostrich  plume 
down  to  his  shoes;  but  shoes  with  yellow  leathered 
heels,  cloak  lined  with  a  golden  yellow  satin,  that  re- 
appeared in  such  trunk  puffings  and  love-knots  of 
yellow  lustre  that  all  suggestion  of  coldness  was  lost 
in  extreme  richness  and  delicacy.  Indeed,  in  grace 
and  beauty  and  extravagance,  he  was  the  ideal  courtly 
young  popinjay  of  Verona — the  idolized  only  son  and 
heir  of  the  mighty  family  of  Montague. 

And  Juliet  ?  Truly  they  were  a  pair  to  joy  the  eye 
279 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

of  poet  or  of  painter !  From  the  moment  when  she 
appeared  upon  the  scene  and  the  laughing  mockery 
of  her  "  How  now !  who  calls  ?  "  to  the  Nurse,  had 
changed  into  the  respectful  "  Madam,  I  am  here ! " 
to  her  mother,  the  public  had  been  enslaved  by  the 
vividness  of  the  dark  and  changeful  beauty  of  her 
girlish  face. 

For  Thrall's  was  the  artificial  youth  of  the  wig,  the 
grease  paint;  of  skilful  costuming  and  brilliant  act- 
ing; a  youth  that  does  not  care  to  come  quite  down 
to  the  footlights.  But  Sybil  was  so  young  that  even 
some  of  the  dear  gaucheries  of  the  still  growing  girl 
showed  faintly  in  her  and  made  tender  tears  start  to 
some  very  worldly  eyes;  therefore  but  little  was  ex- 
pected from  her  in  the  way  of  acting.  So,  when  at 
the  end  of  the  first  act  Juliet  learns  from  the  Nurse 
that  the  young  masker  is  really  a  Montague,  her 
moaning  words, 

"  My  only  love  sprung  from  my  only  hate  ; 
Too  early  seen  unknown,  and  known  too  late ! " 

were  given  in  tones  so  helpless  and  amazed,  and  she 
stood  so  dazed  and  motionless  under  the  shock  of  her 
discovery,  that  with  a  great  roar  of  applause  the  audi- 
ence hailed  the  actress  in  her ! 

Sybil  had  given  much  thought  to  her  part,  and  she 
had  advanced  some  ideas  of  her  own  now  and  then 
when  Thrall  was  teaching  her  the  "  business  "  of  the 
play,  as,  for  instance,  in  the  potion  scene.  The  Juliets 
generally  rave  and  wildly  scream  the  line : 

"  As  with  a  club,  dash  out  my  desperate  brains ! " 
J?8Q 


The  Woman  in  the  Box 

and,  if  they  have  strength  left,  scream  louder  still  the 

44 Stay,  Tybalt,  stay !—  " 

and  then,  having  swallowed  the  potion,  declare  it  has 
44 chilled  me  to  the  heart  1  " 

that  their  "  senses  fail "  them,  etc.,  but  still  in  fullest 
voice  cry  they: 

"  Oh,  Romeo !  Romeo ! " 

and  collapse. 

When  this  was  being  explained  Sybil  asked  grave- 
ly, but  with  dancing  eyes :  "  Where  were  the  rest  of 
the  Capulet  family  that  night,  I  wonder?  Such  a 
dreadful  row  would  bring  the  entire  household,  maids 
and  stable-boys  included,  to  the  rescue.  I  thought 
this  potion-taking  was  a  secret  between  the  Friar, 
Romeo,  and  Juliet?  I  believed  she  was  half  suffo- 
cated with  the  horror  of  the  scenes  she  conjured  up, 
and  gasped  the  words  out.  Then  that  scream  would 
be  just  as  effective,  I  should  think,  if  she  fell  on  her 
knees  near  the  bed  and  stifled  her  shrieks  in  the  pillows 
or  the  bed-clothing.  Would  not  the  suppressed,  almost 
whispering,  voice  add  to  the  sense  of  secrecy — of 
danger?" 

And  Thrall,  whenever  it  was  possible,  permitted  her 
small  innovations,  was  even  proud  of  them,  as  evi- 
dences of  her  natural  ability.  And  so  it  came  about 
that  this  new  Juliet  had  a  tang  of  originality  about 
her  that  was  delightful  to  the  old  theatre-goer ;  while 
the  remarkable  appreciation  of  the  public  for  sheer 

281 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

physical  beauty  was  shown  night  after  night  in  the 
rounds  of  applause  it  bestowed,  one  after  another, 
before  a  line  was  spoken  by  the  ill-fated  lovers  as  they 
were  "  discovered  "  in  Juliet's  chamber. 

Thrall  had  taken  his  idea  in  part  from  a  picture  he 
had  seen  abroad.  The  balcony  of  Juliet's  wide-open 
window,  all  swathed  in  vines,  lay  before  the  audience. 
The  silken  ladder,  plainly  seen  between  the  tubbed 
oranges,  dangled  from  the  ledge ;  the  room  in  some 
disorder;  the  bed-curtains  drawn  close;  low  burnt 
candles  on  the  dressing-table;  Juliet  with  feet  thrust 
into  small  Turkish  mules,  all  free  from  pearls  or  orna- 
ment of  any  kind — a  sort  of  idealized  robe  de  cham- 
bre,  white,  trailing  voluminously,  frothed  with  lace, 
its  open  wing-like  sleeves  touching  the  floor,  fell  free 
from  chin  to  foot,  while  all  the  dark  mass  of  hair 
tumbling  riotously  over  shoulders  and  clouding  about 
her  level,  tragic  brows  suggested  the  new  dear  free- 
dom of  the  nuptial  chamber. 

In  the  picture,  then,  that  the  public  loved,  Romeo, 
close  cap  on  head,  long  travelling  cloak  depending 
from  his  shoulders — being  under  the  ban  of  the  law 
— was  secretly  about  to  leave  his  few  hours-made 
bride.  Out  on  the  balcony,  with  right  foot  on  the 
silken  ladder,  he  rested  the  left  bent  knee  upon  the 
balcony's  ledge.  With  right  arm  aloft  he  steadied 
himself  by  holding  to  the  vines  above,  while  with  his 
left  arm  he  crushed  the  slender,  white-robed  figure 
close.  Upon  his  breast  her  face  was  resting,  with 
maddening  lips  and  glowing  eyes  uplifted,  her  round 
young  arms  wreathing  his  neck ;  the  warm,  soft  hair 

282 


The  Woman  in  the  Box 

flowing  over  his  hand  and  arm,  seeming  to  him  mag- 
netic, alive,  tingling! 

So  he  stood,  a  gracious  shape,  with  regular  fine 
features,  with  heavy  amorous  lids  and  sweeping  black 
lashes  that,  downcast,  helped  to  soften  the  almost 
savage  love  burning  in  the  blue  depths  of  his  bold 
eyes. 

No  more  perfect  picture  of  physical  beauty  and -pas- 
sionate, romantic  love  could  be  imagined,  and  it  was 
nightly  received  with  admiring  applause,  beneath 
which  his  whisper  came  to  her :  "  My  beloved !  my 
beloved !  " 

And  her  eyes  would  sink  and  all  her  throat  flush 
red,  for  she  had  lived  a  lover's  life-time  during  that 
one  storm-shaken  kiss — and  she  understood ! 

Others,  too,  there  were  who,  though  they  heard 
no  whispered  word,  saw  the  lowered  lids  and  moving 
lips  of  Thrall,  and,  knowing  him  of  old,  guessed  the 
rest. 

And  Roberts  groaned  and  Manice  was  so  like  a 
spitting  cat  that  poor  Jim  said  wearily  one  night: 
"  Look  out,  Thrall !  I  know  the  wrong  side  of  wom- 
an pretty  well,  and  that  bleached  friend  of  yours  is 
going  to  play  you  a  trick  before  long — either  you 
or — or — "  He  could  not  force  himself  to  speak  the 
name,  but  looked  so  piteously  at  the  manager  that 
Thrall  nodded,  answeringly :  "  All  right,  Jim !  all 
right !  She  can  try  all  the  tricks  she  likes  on  me ! 
The — the  other  person's  safe  enough — they  don't 
come  in  contact,  you  know!  Why,  you're  all  to 
pieces,  and  imagine  things ! " 

283 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

"  She's  dangerous,  I  tell  you !  "  persisted  Jim. 

"  She's  a  coward !  "  contemptuously  replied  Thrall. 
"  Besides,  if  you  must  know,  I've  succeeded  in  ship- 
ping her.  She's  to  be  starred  in  a  comedy  next  sea- 
son. Jake  Huntley  takes  her  out." 

"  Humph !  "  said  Jim,  "  that  must  cost  you  some- 
thing?" 

"  Well,  yes !  But  better  pay  your  piper  quietly  when 
your  dance  is  over,  and  not  stop  to  count  your  pen- 
nies. I'm  mighty  lucky  to  get  rid  of  a  firebrand  so 
peaceably." 

"  You  look  out,  Thrall !  "  repeated  Jim,  nervously. 
"  Don't  you  see  that's  unnatural  conduct  for  her  ? 
She  is  laying  a  trap  for  you — look  out,  I  say !  " 

"  Oh,  come  out  and  take  a  nip  of  something.  You 
want  bracing — come  on !  "  But  in  a  fortnight's  time 
Thrall  saw  Roberts's  fears  justified. 

Miss  Manice,  enraged  by  her  "  release  " — theatrical 
synonym  for  "  dismissal  " — even  when  profiting  most 
by  the  managerial  generosity,  was  making  secret  use 
of  that  coward's  weapon,  the  anonymous  letter,  and 
each  foreign  mail  day  was  watched  for  eagerly,  and 
Thrall's  face  studied  covertly  with  treacherous  feline 
eyes  that  sought  there  some  reflex  pain  or  fear  from 
the  wounds  she  was  dealing  to  another — until  at  last 
she  was  rewarded. 

Sybil  was  living  in  a  sort  of  trance.  Stewart  Thrall 
had  become  her  only  law.  This  great  success  she 
accepted  as  a  direct  gift  from  him.  She  had  been  so 
helplessly  poor,  friendless!  He,  only,  had  discov- 
ered some  talent  in  her,  and  she  had  been  at  first 

284 


The  Woman  in  the  Box 

ashamed  because  she  was  dependent  upon  him  for 
all  the  means  of  making  anything  of  herself  until — 
until,  oh,  pride !  oh,  joy !  wonderful !  inexplicable !  he 
loved  her !  Then  all  was  changed.  She  could  go  to 
him  in  every  difficulty — she  could  accept  help,  instruc- 
tion, everything,  without  thought  of  shame.  Before, 
she  had  simply  regarded  him  as  the  master  of  a  beauti- 
ful art,  as  a  stern  and  exacting  teacher,  whose  ap- 
proval was  hard  to  win — until  love  came  to  glorify 
and  lift  her  up  to  the  high  throne  of  his  heart. 

And  so  absolute,  so  unquestioning  was  her  faith 
and  pride  and  trust,  that  she  had  as  yet  no  thought 
at  all  of  shame  or  of  wrong  done,  but  breathed  the 
incense  of  public  worship  and  read  and  re-read  her 
printed  praises,  and  saw  the  turning  heads  in  the 
street,  the  nudging  elbows,  heard  the  swift  whisper: 
"  There  she  is — there's  Sybil  Lawton !  "  and  all  day 
long  dreamed  of  that  moment  on  the  balcony  when 
they  two  were  as  alone  as  though  they  stood  upon 
an  island  and  the  applause  was  surf  thundering  an 
accompaniment  to  his  passion-choked  words. 

It  was  a  double  intoxication — that  of  both  mind 
and  heart.  For  a  little  space  her  life  was  pure  joy, 
without  one  clouding  thought  of — after;  without  con- 
scious knowledge  of  the  envy  and  calumny,  the  con- 
flict and  detraction  going  on  about  her.  Occasionally 
she  heard  allusions  to  the  "  Missus,"  as  when  some 
one  would  "  wonder  how  the  Missus  would  like  this 
or  that,"  and  once  or  twice  she  had  intended  to  ask 
Jane  Stivers  whether  it  was  a  nickname  or  just  a 
slang  term.  But  what  did  it  matter — what  did  any- 

285 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

thing  matter? — save  to  win  the  approbation  of  Stew- 
art Thrall,  and  consequently  the  public. 

And  Thrall,  spoiled  by  the  world,  looking  back 
along  the  twenty  arid  years  between  them,  saw  dead 
passions  cast  aside  like  so  many  outworn  gloves; 
knew  the  price  of  every  illegitimate  whim,  and  had 
seen  his  own  danger.  Yet  instead  of  flying  from  it 
he  had  trusted  to  the  strange  new  desire  he  felt  to 
help,  to  guard,  to  advance  the  interests  of  another, 
and  now  he  found  himself  dominated  by  a  great  pas- 
sion, such  a  one  as  none  who  knew  him  gave  him  credit 
for. 

Jim  Roberts  writhed  miserably,  crying :  "  She 
thinks  he  loves  her !  Great  God !  See  her  worship- 
ping eyes !  But  it's  not  love  with  him — it's  the  joy 
of  the  pursuit;  damn  him!  Why,  oh,  why  do  good 
women  always  love  such  men  ?  Even  if  I  were  a  man 
instead  of  a  miserable  wreck,  just  trembling  to  the 
fall — my  reverent  worship,  my  humble,  waiting,  de- 
voted love  would  stand  no  chance  against  him  or  one 
like  him !  But  why  ?  " 

Poor  Jim  did  not  know  that  it  is  the  bold  man, 
who,  not  restrained  by  deep  respect,  pushes  past  the 
reverent  waiting  one,  and  speaking  first,  is  first  loved  ; 
and  worthiness  all  unconsidered ! 

But  now  he  judged  Thrall  from  his  conduct  in  the 
past  and  groaned  to  himself :  "  He  will  leave  her,  just 
as  he  did  my  little  Bess — not  so  soon,  perhaps.  This 
girl  is  many-sided  and  fascinating,  and  will  not  pall 
so  soon,  but  the  change  will  come.  Not  to  her, 
though — Heaven  bless  her!  She's  as  true  as  steel. 

286 


The  Woman  in  the  Box 

Hot  and  fierce  of  temper  if  much  tried,  but  loyal  for 
life!  No,  the  change  will  be  in  him.  But  when  he 
puts  her  away  from  him — I'll  put  him  away  from  the 
world  he  ko-tow's  to  so  devotedly!  I  will,  I  swear 
it !  in  spite  of  threatening  chair  or  noose !  How 
cleverly  he  played  his  cards  in  placing  the  poor  child 
under  the  '  protection' — God  be  merciful  to  the  pro- 
tected!— of  that  smug- faced,  lynx-eyed  hypocrite, 
Stivers,  who  would  sell  her  soul  for  money !  Had  he 
really  wanted  Miss  Lawton  guarded,  guided,  and 
watched  over,  why  did  he  not  place  her  with  old  Mrs. 
Elmer — as  good  a  woman  and  as  true  a  lady  as  ever 
lived  ?  But  no,  she  is  not  a  servant ;  she  could  not  be 
dismissed  or  sent  away  on  conveniently  important  mat- 
ters of  business.  Sometimes  I  think  Mrs.  Elmer  begins 
to  suspect  Thrall  of  a  new  treachery  to  the  Missus, 
whom  she  is  really  fond  of,  because  they  are  both 
English,  I  suppose.  And  I  can  see  how  sad  the  good 
old  actress's  face  is  as  she  watches  the  by-play  be- 
tween manager-actor  and  his  beautiful  young  '  find.' 
But  no  matter  what  she  may  think,  there'll  be  no 
scandal  of  her  starting.  And  so  far  Sybil  Lawton's 
own  frankness  has  been  her  perfect  concealment. 
Her  immeasurable  admiration  of  his  '  manly  grace 
and  fine  eyes,'  her  unstinted  gratitude  for  his  '  teach- 
ing and  help,'  are  expressed  openly,  fervently,  and 
as  yet  cause  only  concealed  amusement.  But  Cora 
Manice  is  not  deceived.  Jealous  eyes  are  as  sharp 
as  they  are  cruel.  I  should  know,  for  my  own 
show  me  many  torturing  things  that  other  people  are 
quite  blind  to ;  and  when  her  sugary  words  of  compli- 

287 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

ment  became  but  vehicles  for  wounding  sneer  and 
cutting  criticism,  Thrall's  cold  anger  and  his  expressed 
desire  that  Miss  Lawton  should  not  associate  further 
with  her  told  her  spiteful  catship  all  there  was  to 
tell.  And  if  she  does  not  drag  this  poor  girl's  name 
into  a  scandal,  it  will  not  be  for  want  of  stealthy  try- 
ing. She  dare  not  antagonize  Thrall  openly.  If  she 
did,  her  chance  of  starring  would  soar  some  hundred 
feet  higher  than  '  Gilderoy's  kite.'  But  oh,  poor  lit- 
tle girl !  your  beauty  and  your  genius,  like  the  bloom 
and  perfume  of  the  flower,  act  as  lures  to  the  roving, 
inconstant  seeker  of  nectar.  Your  life  will  be  spoiled 
— if  it  be  not  already.  Why  could  Stewart  Thrall  not 
leave  you  alone?  You  would  have  made  your  way 
slowly,  but  surely  and  naturally.  But  it's  no  use  to 
speculate  now  on  what  might  have  been.  Thrall,  who 
finds  it  difficult  to  say  '  no  '  to  anyone,  could  not  say 
it  to  himself  to  save  his  immortal  soul  from  burn- 
ing fire!  And  so  he  wins  your  dear  love,  and  by 
and  by  he  will  cast  it  away,  and  then  my  beautiful — 
I'll " 

Jim  laughed  unsteadily ;  his  pale  eye  had  a  greenish 
animal  glare.  "  I'm  a  mere  wreck — a  poor  broken- 
down,  drunken  actor;  and  yet  it's  curious  how  often 
it  happens  that  the  shaking,  unaccustomed  hand  sends 
in  the  killing  shot !  " 

But  Stewart  Thrall  loved  Sybil  with  a  difference. 
His  life  had  become  a  drear,  monotonous  triviality. 
He  had  been  sick  to  death  of  those  brief  amours  that 
ring  truest  to  the  sound  of  gold.  Love  had  so  long 
degenerated  into  a  coarse  appetite  that  it  had  at  last 

288 


The  Woman  in  the  Box 

become  veritable  dead-sea  fruit  to  him.  But  tkis  lit- 
tle girl  had  thrilled  him  into  life  again,  had  aroused 
his  ambition,  touched  his  heart  to  tenderness  and  re- 
spect and  love — real  love,  that  made  him  try  to  be  the 
man  she  thought  him,  that  made  him  shake  with  fear 
lest  she  find  him  unworthy — as  he  knew  himself  to 
be.  His  passion  was  so  adorned  with  poetry  and 
grace  and  charm,  so  surrounded  with  every  illusion 
his  intellect  could  invent,  that  a  wiser  than  Sybil  Law- 
ton  might  well  have  been  swept  unquestioningly  into 
his  arms. 

He  knew  the  abyss  he  faced.  He  knew  there  was 
that  "  afterward,"  but  he  had  trusted  blindly  to  his 
own  powers  of  concealment — to  his  self-control. 
Stewart  Thrall's  self-control!  Truly,  the  devil  has 
many  a  jest  offered  him  in  all  gravity ! 

But  right  or  wrong — and  it  was  all  very  wrong — 
he  loved  her  with  heart  and  brain,  and  being  what  he 
was,  the  immediate  moment  was  sufficient.  He  was 
careful  of  the  conventions,  but  so  far  as  he  dared  he 
surrounded  his  Princess,  his  beloved,  with  the  en- 
chantments of  luxury.  Her  rooms  were  bowers  of 
flowers  (they  bore  various  cards  on  arrival),  rare 
books,  precious  bibelots;  but  his  fierce  jealousy  de- 
nied her  a  living  pet.  And  in  this  fool's  paradise  they 
were  walking,  their  feet  among  the  grasses  and  the 
flowers,  their  beautiful  mad  heads  high  in  the  clouds, 
when  the  curtain  rose  on  the  play  one  night. 

The  crowded  house  watching  for  Juliet's  coming, 
at  her  laughing  "  How  now,  who  calls  ?  "  broke  into 
welcoming  applause,  which  continued  so  long  that 

289 


A  Pasteboard   Crown 

she  was  forced  to  acknowledge  the  greeting.  As  she 
turned  again  and  faced  her  mother,  Lady  Capulet, 
she  saw  a  woman  in  the  stage-box.  She  was  alone. 
She  leaned  forward  a  little  and  looked  intently,  pierc- 
ingly straight  into  her  face,  and  Sybil  noticed  that 
the  woman's  hand  resting  on  the  box  ledge  clenched 
itself  hard. 

Why,  she  could  not  have  told,  but  at  that  move- 
ment her  heart  gave  a  frightened  bound,  and  she  was 
glad  to  get  off  the  stage.  She  found  herself  strangely 
nervous  during  the  balcony  scene,  but  she  could  not 
see  the  strange  woman  from  that  side,  and  was  hap- 
pily forgetting  her.  But  no  sooner  was  she  in  line 
with  the  box  again  than  its  occupant  fixed  her  as  a 
basalisk  might.  No  matter  what  went  on,  no  matter 
who  was  speaking,  those  slowly  moving  pale-blue 
eyes  with  their  whity  lashes  followed  her,  measuring 
her  height,  movements,  her  very  heart-throbs,  it 
seemed  to  the  puzzled,  distressed  girl.  She  felt  that 
there  was  something  threatening,  inimical,  in  the  very 
air  about  her.  When  the  chamber  scene  began,  as 
she  stood  on  the  balcony  with  Romeo,  she  was  in- 
stantly aware  of  the  new  rigid  clasp  of  his  arm,  of  the 
pallor  about  his  mouth,  and  the  sternness  that  shone 
in  his  erstwhile  amorous  eyes.  Sensitive  and  quick, 
she  translated  these  signs  into  disapproval  of  her 
work ;  her  nervousness  must  have  made  her  lose  some 
point,  blur  some  delicate  passage  or  slur  over  some  all- 
important  sentence,  she  thought,  and  she  tightened 
her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  whispered  with  dark 
eyes  wide,  like  a  pleading  child :  "  Master,  are  you 
290 


The  Woman  in  the  Box 

vexed?  Is  my  work  ill-done?"  The  rigid  arm  grew 
flexible  and  drew  her  close.  The  stern  eyes  fell  to 
the  level  of  her  glance.  "  It's  not  negligence,"  she 
went  on,  "  it's  that  woman  with  the  cold,  pale  eyes — 
she  frightens  me  !  " 

He  whispered  swiftly,  "  Pay  no  heed !  Ignore  her ! 
Let  others  tremble  who  have  cause !  " 

Tenderly  he  drooped  the  black-lashed,  heavy  lids 
which  his  followers  adored,  and,  looking  on  his 
Juliet's  face,  he  thought  her  mouth  was  like  a  fresh 
red  rose,  all  dewy  sweet  and  pure ;  and  suddenly,  for 
them,  the  applause  was  pierced  by  a  short  laugh — 
sneering,  cold,  and  wounding.  It  might  have  been 
the  sharp,  cold  thrust  of  an  icicle,  so  violently  Thrall 
started  at  the  sound,  and  as  the  act  moved  on  and 
Sybil  faced  again  the  occupant  of  the  box,  a  slow, 
contemptuous  smile  grew  about  the  woman's  lips — 
a  smile  so  injuriously  significant  that  a  flood  of  color 
rushed  over  Sybil's  face  and  breast  and  arms,  and  her 
confusion  and  bewilderment  were  so  great  that  those 
who  shared  the  scene  had  once  or  twice  to  prompt 
her.  Indeed,  she  might  have  failed  utterly  had  she 
not  recalled  the  tenderly  whispered  words,  "  Pay  no 
heed;  ignore  her."  Stewart's  word  was  law.  He 
said  "  ignore  "  this  cruel,  sneering  creature,  and  she 
would  obey  and  play  her  best — but,  oh,  she  would  be 
glad  when  the  play  was  over! 

Sybil  next  became  conscious  of  a  certain  amount  of 
excitement — suppressed,  yet  evident,  behind  the 
scenes — whisperings  and  nudges  and  smiles  that  were 
gone  the  moment  Thrall  appeared;  and,  somehow, 

291 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

she  felt  that  she  was  involved  in  what  was  going  on ; 
it  was  all  vague,  unreal,  like  a  dream. 

Stivers,  thin  of  figure,  in  black  gown  and  white 
apron — her  flat,  hard  chest  covered  with  a  sort  of 
breastplate  of  neatly  quilted-in  needles  of  all  num- 
bers and  pins  of  all  sizes — had  sidled  into  an  entrance 
that  commanded  a  view  of  the  stranger's  box,  a  most 
unusual  thing  for  her  to  do,  who  rarely  left  the  dress- 
ing-room save  to  carry  Juliet's  train  as  far  as  the 
stage  and  at  once  return.  But  there  she  was  and  Jim 
Roberts,  dressed  and  ready  for  the  Apothecary,  stood 
shaking  like  a  leaf  beside  her,  and  as  she  approached 
she  heard  him  say:  "  I  knew  it !  I  knew  she  had  some 
devil's  trick  in  mind !  That's  Manice's  work  over 
there,  bringing  her  back  from  London !  Oh " 

He  stopped  at  sight  of  Sybil,  and  moved  away  a  bit. 
She  was  just  opening  her  lips  to  send  Stivers  for  Mr. 
Thrall  when  a  door  slammed  opposite,  and  she 
glanced  across. 

It  has  been  said  that  Thrall  was  a  man  who  never 
forgot  appearances,  never  disregarded  the  customary, 
regular  social  conventions,  and  now  he  was  doggedly 
doing  "  the  proper  thing  "  in  full  view  of  the  admir- 
ing public  and  the  observant  critic.  For  in  his  stage 
costume  he,  seemingly  taking  care  to  keep  well  back, 
was  greeting  with  empressement  the  chill,  flaxen 
blond  woman  there,  leaning  toward  her  to  catch  her 
valued  remarks,  and  doing  the  agreeably  surprised 
with  such  inimitable  grace  that  Sybil's  pained  amaze- 
ment at  the  sight  wrung  from  her  the  question :  "  Who 
is  that  woman  in  the  box  ?  " 

292 


The  Woman  in  the  Box 

Stivers  slid  quietly  away.  Miss  Manice,  who  had 
been  "  in  front,"  came  back  just  then,  her  mean  little 
face  all  aglow  with  satisfaction,  and  she  it  was  who 
answered :  "  That,  my  dear  ?  Why,  that's  the  Missus." 

Sybil  looked  almost  stupidly  at  her.  Manice 
laughed.  "  Don't  you  hunderstand  low-class  Heng- 
lish  ?  "  she  jeered,  "  or  have  you  really  never  heard 
of  her  before  ?  " 

"  Who  is  the  Missus  ?  "  slowly  asked  the  girl. 

And  Manice  answered,  sharply :  "  She  is  Mrs.  Stew- 
art Thrall ! " 

It  was  Jim  Roberts  who  caught  Sybil  as  she  fell, 
and,  as  he  carried  her  past  Manice,  he  whispered: 
"  I'd  like  to  kill  you,  you  viper !  " 

"  Y-e-s  ? "  she  sneered,  "  I  suppose  your  boss  is 
too  big  game  for  you  to  tackle ;  but  he's  the  party  you 
ought  to  kill,  if  you  will  insist  on  being  so  melo- 
dramatic !  " 

And  over  in  the  box  Mrs.  Thrall,  who  had  seen  the 
fall,  remarked,  coolly :  "  There  seems  to  be  a  commo- 
tion over  there.  Oh,  I  wouldn't  leave  the  box  sud- 
denly if  I  were  you ;  it  might  not  look  well,  and  you 
are  always  so  careful  of  appearances."  But  Thrall 
was  rushing  back  to  the  stage  like  a  madman. 


293 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

"l    WILL   NOT   DIVORCE   YOU  " 

In  the  "  Stage  Notes,"  or  "  Stage  Whispers,"  or 
"  Gossip  of  the  Stage,"  of  the  Sunday  papers  (next 
morning),  there  had  been  mention  made  of  "  A  pleas- 
ant little  surprise  at  the  Globe  Theatre,  where  a  lady 
had  so  successfully  secluded  herself  in  the  shadows  of 
her  box  that  the  play  was  half  over  before  Mr.  Thrall 
had  discovered  in  her  his  wife,  whom  he  supposed  to 
be  still  in  London.  Strict  disciplinarian  as  he  is,  the 
manager  was  so  far  lost  in  the  husband  that  he  hur- 
ried, all  costumed  as  he  was,  to  the  box  to  greet  and 
warmly  welcome  her.  The  audience  would  gladly  have 
taken  a  hand  in  the  greeting,  had  they  been  quite  sure 
the  lady  was  Mrs.  Thrall,  but  as  she  had  arrived  too 
late  to  make  a  proper  evening  toilette,  yet  could  not 
deny  herself  the  pleasure  of  seeing  at  once  her  hus- 
band's latest  great  production,  she  almost  wrapped 
herself  in  the  box  curtain,  thus  facing  the  stage  while 
hiding  herself  from  the  house.  When  discovered,  the 
returned  wanderer  laughingly  told  Mr.  Thrall  she 
hoped  that,  in  common  justice,  he  would  place  his  own 
name  at  the  head  of  that  week's  '  docked  list,'  as  a 
heavy  forfeit  is  demanded  of  anyone  who  appears  in 
front  of  the  house  after  taking  any  part,  no  matter  how 

294 


"I  Will  Not  Divorce  You" 

brief,  in  the  performance,  and  he  was  doubly  guilty,  in 
that  he  was  in  full  costume.  He  gravely  argued  there 
would  be  no  one  to  profit  by  the  forfeit,  since  he  was 
himself  manager  as  well  as  offending  actor.  But  she 
quickly  extended  an  open  hand,  and  cheerfully  offered 
to  receive  the  forfeit,  and  even  to  invest  it  wisely  and 
cautiously,  and  Mr.  Thrall  retired  from  both  argument 
and  box." 

Also,  there  had  been  a  brief  mention  of  "  The  swoon- 
ing of  Miss  Sybil  Lawton,  between  acts.  The  cause 
given  was  fatigue,  the  long  run  of  the  play,  and  the 
double  performance  of  Saturday,  making  a  heavy 
draught  upon  the  strength  of  so  young  a  girl." 

One  paper  added  that  "  Miss  Lawton  herself  made 
light  of  the  matter,  saying,  '  Fainting  was  a  mere 
family  trait  with  the  Lawtons,  an  inheritance  the  same 
as  a  very  long  thumb  or  a  peculiar  ear,'  but  though  she 
laughed,  she  looked  very  white,  and  leaned  heavily 
upon  the  arm  of  her  woman  companion." 

When  the  play  ended  that  night  the  call-boy  had  been 
sent  to  tell  Mr.  Roberts  that  "  he  was  wanted  at  Mr. 
Thrall's  dressing-room,  as  quickly  as  possible,"  and 
presently,  shabby  and  shambling,  with  every  nerve 
aquiver,  and  in  a  most  savage  temper,  he  obeyed.  Out- 
side the  door  he  stood  respectfully  enough,  his  hat  in 
hand.  Inside  his  manner  became  a  half-cowed  inso- 
lence. He  put  his  hat  on,  and,  nervously  buttoning  and 
unbuttoning  his  coat,  said :  "  Well,  you  whistled  your 
cur — here  I  am !  Whom  am  I  to  be  sic'd  at  this  time  ?  " 

The  most  of  Romeo's  delicate  finery  hung  about  on 
hooks ;  the  splendor  of  his  waving,  golden-brown  locks 

295 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

graced  a  wooden  block  standing  on  the  dressing-shelf ; 
his  cloak  and  cap  and  sword  were  piled  in  a  pell-mell 
heap;  his  dainty  shoes  were  most  anywhere;  while 
everywhere  were  cigarettes — damp,  spoiled,  but  un- 
lighted,  because  of  his  own  strict  rule  against  smoking 
in  the  dressing-rooms,  and  the  man  himself,  bending 
over  the  marble  basin  in  that  frenzy  of  soapy  lather, 
without  which  the  male  countenance  may  not  be  con- 
sidered cleansed,  answered  from  its  midst :  "  I'm  not 
sic'ing  you  on  anyone !  " 

"  That's  queer !  There  was  a  time  when  I  was  often 
sent  for,  to  discuss  an  important '  set,'  or  listen  to  some 
troublesome  or  involved  scene,  or  was  sent  to  libraries 
to  root  out  notes  for  your  information,  but  Lord! 
Lord !  that  was  long  ago !  The  stage-manager  is  your 
counsellor  now,  but  I  can  still  do  all  those  hateful  ser- 
vices that  pass  under  the  general  term  of  '  dirty-work.' 
Whenever  a  request  is  to  be  refused ;  whenever  a  dis- 
charge is  to  be  made ;  whenever  a  furious  woman  is  to 
be  faced — that  a  scene  may  be  prevented  at  the  theatre 
— I  am  summoned,  and  the  damned  funny  part  of  it  is, 
I  come  and  accept  my  orders  and  carry  them  out ;  but 
even  you  can  hardly  expect  me  to  enjoy  the  work  of 
getting  you  out  of  every  scrape." 

"  You  were  not  called  upon  in  the  Manice  matter," 
Thrall  somewhat  sullenly  remarked  from  the  folds  of  a 
towel. 

"  N — o !  "  assented  Roberts,  regretfully.  "  I  should 
have  enjoyed  handing  in  her  dismissal.  But  go  ahead 
with  your  orders !  The  job  must  be  pretty  tough,  judg- 
ing from  the  way  you  hang  fire  in  naming  it." 

296 


"I  Will  Not  Divorce  You" 

Thrall  turned,  and  his  face  startled  Roberts.  It  was 
so  pale,  so  drawn,  so  anxious,  he  seemed  to  have 
washed  away  all  its  youth  and  pride  and  brightness, 
along  with  the  grease  paint  and  the  rouge,  in  the  basin 
of  soapy  water.  He  turned  his  troubled  eyes  in  silent 
reproach  upon  the  speaker,  who  asked,  in  a  more  re- 
spectful tone:  "  Well,  what  is  it?  " 

"  It  is,"  said  Thrall,  turning  to  the  shelf  and  taking 
up  a  brush,  which  he  began  to  use  hurriedly  upon  his 
hair,  "it's  the  child,  Jim — the  Princess!  She — well, 
she's  had  a  blow.  The  moment  I'm  out  of  here  I'll  run 
against  some  of  the  boys  from  the  papers,  then  I'll  have 
to  see  the  Missus  home — and  stay  there.  And,  Jim, 
those  two  women  are  all  alone  in  that  house,  and 
should  the  child  go  to  pieces,  and  need  a  doctor's 
care " 

Jim  muttered  an  oath.  "  As  bad  as  that  ?  "  he  asked, 
fiercely.  "  Didn't  she  know  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know — I  don't  know  anything  to- 
night !  "  groaned  Thrall,  "  except  her  need  of  protec- 
tion! Jim,  can't  you  go  there?  Jane  Stivers  will  let 
you  in,  quietly;  she'll  give  you  a  couch  in  the  parlor 
to  rest  until  dawn,  and  you  can  carry  that  old  medi- 
cine case  with  you,  too,  so  that  any  early  rising  neigh- 
bor may  mistake  you  for  a  doctor  leaving  the  house. 
Then,  should  any  need  arise,  you  would  be  on  hand  to 
serve  her,  and  I — [he  dropped  the  brush  and  held  his 
head  hard  between  his  hands]  I  should  be  a  trifle 
farther  away  from  the  insane  asylum!  Will  you  do 
it  ?  Say,  speak  quick !  I've  got  to  hurry  down  to  the 
Missus!  Jim,  what  the  devil  brought  her  back  from 

297 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

London  so  suddenly,  though  she  will  tell  me  presently 
herself,  I  suppose?" 

And  Jim  answered :  "  Manice  brought  her  back — 
well,  you  see  if  I'm  not  right!  She's  been  sending 
anonymous  letters.  Y-e-s,  I'll  follow  Stivers,  and 
stand  by  till  morning.  Hand  down  that  medicine-case. 
But  I'm  doing  it  for  her  sake,  not  yours,  mind  you!  " 

And  then  Stewart  Thrall,  with  a  pang  at  his  heart, 
had  seen  Sybil  leave  the  theatre  on  Stivers's  arm,  while 
he,  with  seeming  .gayety,  was  presenting  Mrs.  Thrall 
to  a  little  group  of  friends,  among  whom  were  a  couple 
of  ubiquitous  newspaper  men — hence  the  "  Stage 
Notes  "  next  day. 

Early  Sunday  morning  Stewart  had  slipped  from 
his  room  and  the  house,  and  hurrying  off  in  search  of 
Jim  Roberts  had  found  him  at  his  boarding-house,  al- 
ready well  on  the  way  to  complete  inebriation,  early  as 
it  was ;  and  so  unruly,  headstrong,  and  unmanageable 
that  it  was  difficult  indeed  to  learn  anything  about  the 
passing  of  the  night  at  Stivers's  house;  and  what  he 
did  wring  from  him  only  added  to  his  own  pain. 

"  For  two  hours  by  that  cussed  watch,"  said  Jim, 
flinging  the  scratched  and  dented  timepiece  across  the 
room,  "  minute  by  minute,  I  watched  and  listened  to 
her  unceasing  walk — walk — walk  over  my  head.  She 
had  shut  Stivers  out !  She  had  acted  a  five-act  tragedy 
twice  that  day,  she  had  had  neither  dinner  nor  supper, 
and  there  she  was  walking  miles  up  there  alone — in  the 
night!  And  then  we  heard  speaking,  and  Jane  and  I 
listened  on  the  stairs,  and  she  was  saying,  over  and 
over — oh,  how  I  wish  you  had  died  last  summer, 

298 


"I  Will  Not  Divorce  You" 

Thrall,  you  with  your  infernal  soft  eyes  and  girl  lashes 
and  stony,  hard  heart !  Friendship  ? — nothing !  How 
can  there  be  friendship  without  mutual  respect  and  es- 
teem and  good  will?  You've  a  lot  of  esteem  for  me, 
haven't  you  ?  Well,  I've  less  for  you !  Why  should  I 
tell  you  what  she  said  or  did  ?  Oh,  the  past !  You  let 
that  past  alone,  do  you  hear  ?  Poor  child,  saying  over 
and  over,  '  Too  early  seen  unknown  and  known  too 
late !  known  too  late !  known  too  late! '  Oh,  you're  go- 
ing, are  you  ?  Well,  I  was  starting  for  a  doctor  when 
that  cat  Stivers  played  her  last  card.  She  said :  '  Miss 
Sybil,  dear,  you  must  take  a  little  nourishment,  or  I 
shall  send  this  telegram  I've  written  to  your  mamma, 
Mrs.  Lawton,  and  she  will  be  here  by  ten  in  the  morn- 
ing. I  can't  have  you  fainting  from  exhaustion,  and 
me  getting  the  blame ; '  and  at  that  the  door  opened 
quickly,  and  the  cup  of  beef-tea  was  accepted.  Stivers 
even  got  the  chance  to  brush  her  hair  a  bit,  but  not  one 
word  did  she  speak  of  any  trouble  or  worry,  other  than 
that  she  '  was  suffering  from  an  attack  of  the  nerves.' 
Poor,  plucky  little  soul!  She'd  never  give  anyone 
away !  Well,  go !  I'm  devilish  glad  to  see  your  back, 
for  your  face  puts  murder  in  my  heart !  " 

And  as  Thrall  left  Jim,  who  was  dragging  a  full  flask 
from  his  pocket,  he  muttered  to  himself :  "  God !  I  be- 
gin to  understand  what  makes  drunkards  of  some  men ! 
Oh,  my  beloved !  my  beloved !  If  I  could  only  go  to 
you — claim  you  before  all  the  world — do  you  public 
reverence!  Perhaps — I  wonder  if  Lettice  would  ac- 
cept her  freedom,  we  are  such  utter  strangers  to  each 
other — perhaps " 

299 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

He  hastened  back  home,  and  was  surprised  to  find 
that  Mrs.  Thrall  had  already  breakfasted  in  her  own 
room.  He  would  have  been  more  surprised  had  he 
known  that  her  quick  ears  had  heard  and  her  pale  eyes 
had  watched  his  early  departure,  and  that  the  suspicion 
it  had  aroused  in  her  mind  would  add  much  to  the  diffi- 
culties of  the  interview  he  sought.  For  what  he  had  to 
face,  he  faced  without  hesitation  or  delay. 

Stewart  Thrall's  knowledge  of  feminine  character 
was  considerable,  yet  it  was  neither  deep  nor  thorough 
— it  was  superficial.  He  understood  the  tastes,  the 
fancies,  the  caprices  of  women ;  he  was  a  past-master  in 
delicate  flattery ;  he  was  quick  to  recognize  the  almost 
unconscious  pose  of  a  pretty  woman.  Was  she  literary, 
he  was  earnest  and  intellectual  and  quoted  her  favorite 
poet;  was  she  artistic,  he  straightway  saw  in  her  the 
potential  painter,  only  handicapped  by  circumstance; 
while,  if  she  were  simply  coquettish,  he  was  indeed 
upon  solid  ground.  Women  loved  to  be  appreciated; 
he  not  only  accepted  them  at  their  own  valuation,  but 
added  something  to  the  appraisement.  What  wonder, 
then,  that  he  thought  of  them  as  conceited,  vain,  full  of 
pride,  without  merit?  But  even  what  knowledge  he 
had  was  to-day  useless  and  unavailing,  for  there  was 
probably  no  woman  in  the  world  so  hopelessly  incom- 
prehensible to  him  as  this  chill,  ashen-blonde  creature, 
whom  he  had  called  his  wife  these  twelve  years  past, 
though  she  remained  abroad  so  long  at  a  time  for  her 
health  (which  was  perfect)  that  other  people  almost 
forgot  he  was  a  Benedick.  Save  in  the  theatre  one 
never  heard  her  mentioned.  Long  ago,  a  low-class 

300 


"I  Will  Not  Divorce  You" 

English  servant  had  habitually  referred  to  her  as  the 
"  Missus,"  and  with  gleeful  unanimity  the  actors 
adopted  the  title,  and  thus  Sybil  remained  all  ignorant 
that  behind  the  screening  nickname  of  the  "  Missus  " 
stood  a  secure  and  dominant  Mrs.  Stewart  Thrall. 

The  pair,  who  had  been  talking  long,  were  sitting 
facing  each  other.  The  table  between  them  had  a  dish 
of  half-dead  ferns  in  a  handsome  receptacle.  Though 
meant  for  ornament,  they  were  sadder  even  than  the 
paper-dry,  stick-dead  contents  of  the  window  jardi- 
niere, for  they  at  least  no  longer  struggled,  no  longer 
suffered  for  loving  care.  Stewart  had  remarked 
apropos  of  their  condition :  "  You  see  they  have  felt 
your  absence,  Lettice  ?  " 

And  she  had  given  the  little  downward  pull  to  the 
corners  of  her  mouth  that  always  made  him  wince,  and 
answered :  "  But  you  were  never  looking  better  or 
younger  in  your  life  than  " — (she  glanced  at  his  thin, 
pale,  anxious  face,  and  significantly  finished) — "  than 
you  were  yesterday." 

There  was  a  litter,  too,  of  Sunday  papers,  a  Tauch- 
nitz  novel,  and  writing  materials  keeping  the  dead  ferns 
company,  and  now,  in  the  pause  that  was  lengthening 
out  between  them,  he  carefully  piled  up  the  pencils 
and  penholders,  building  and  unbuilding  pens,  some 
square,  some  three-cornered,  while  all  the  time  the 
ash-blonde  woman  opposite  sat  steady,  self-contained; 
and,  though  her  satirical  lightness  of  manner  was 
changing  fast  into  a  sullen  anger  that  settled  heavily 
about  her  lips  and  clouded  her  brow,  her  hands  yet 
rested  quietly  in  her  lap,  while  her  cold  eyes  watched 

301 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

the  man  she  wondered  at  not  a  little — for  he  was 
changed.  Heretofore,  innuendoes  had  ever  had  power 
to  drive  him  to  hot  rage,  to-day  his  tolerance  might 
have  passed  for  indifference,  but  for  the  quick  trem- 
bling of  those  ever-building  fingers. 

She  told  him  of  the  anonymous  letters  that  had  con- 
vinced her  that  he  was  making  a  fool  of  himself,  pub- 
licly enough,  to  endanger  her  dignity  as  a  wife,  and 

"  And  so,"  he  interrupted,  "  you  broke  faith  with 
me  on  the  strength  of  an  anonymous  lie?  You  have 
returned,  not  to  find  the  scandal  in  existence,  but  to 
learn  that  your  presence  here  makes  life  much  harder 
for  us  both.  You  must  feel  proud  to  know  that  a 
creature  like  Manice  has  used  you  so  easily !  " 

"  Almost  as  proud  as  you  must  be  to  recall  certain 
love  passages  between  you,"  retorted  Lettice. 

"  Pardon  me,  one  cannot  '  recall '  what  has  never 
existed.  I  have  even  yet  a  little  respect  for  the  word 
and  the  sentiment  of  love,  and  would  never  think  of 
casting  such  pearls  into  the  Manice  trough !  " 

"  You  are  so  remarkably  frank  about  this  malicious 
young  person,  perhaps  you  will  be  equally  so  about 
this  rare  conservatory  blossom — this  quite  wonderful 
Juliet,  this  new  '  chere  amie  '  ?  Oh,  you  can't  deny — 
save  to  the  blind — your  infatuation  for  her!  Admit- 
ting that  you  have  had  so  far  an  eye  to  appearances, 
that  no  open  scandal  is  yet  afoot,  it  is  still  plain  to  all 
that  you  love  her!  Silence?  That's  odd — from  you! 
Does  she  understand  how  she  is  honored?  Have  you 
acquainted  her  with  the  number  she  should  wear  upon 

302 


"I  Will  Not  Divorce  You" 

her  breast  ?  Don't  break  that  holder !  What  creatures 
men  are !  Deception,  ingratitude,  and  treachery  were 
your  very  wedding-gifts  to  me.  Disloyalty  has  long 
become  a  habit  with  you." 

"  Lettice,  did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  a  wife's  un- 
just suspicions  may  help  a  man  on  to  disloyalty?  You 
no  sooner  took  my  name  than  you  became  a  personified 
suspicion.  You  claimed  dominion  over  my  very 
thoughts.  My  every  movement  seemed  to  arouse  your 
mistrust.  You  put  spies  upon  me,  when  I  had  not  even 
a  thought  of  disloyalty.  I  discovered  it,  and,  though 
I  am  ashamed  now  of  the  boyish  folly,  it's  none  the  less 
true  that  I  first  broke  my  solemn  vow  to  you  out  of 
revenge  for  your  unjust  suspicion.  Then  you  helped 
me  with  your  money  and  with  your  astonishing  ability 
to  twist  and  turn  everything  to  our  advantage  and 
profit ;  and  let  me  say  that  your  audacious  plans  were 
not  always  quite  scrupulous,  Lettice !  But  when  I 
found  that  that  troubled  you  not  a  bit,  I  somehow  felt 
that  my  disloyalty  was  not  worth  troubling  about 
either.  I  was  truly  grateful  for  your  help,  but  you 
wanted  me  on  my  knees,  and  you  rubbed  the  service 
in  so  hard  that  it  became  unendurable,  and  I  was  in  tor- 
ment until  I  paid  you  the  money  back,  with  interest. 
But  still  you  feel  that  I  owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude,  be- 
cause, finding  me  an  artist,  full  of  dreams  and  willing 
to  wait  for  their  fulfilment,  you  have  made  of  me  a 
showman  instead — a  successful  one  at  that.  And  now 
we  have  become  such  strangers  that  we  place  the  ocean 
between  us,  for  the  comfort  of  its  vast  breadth  divid- 
ing us.  Lettice,  we  can't  be  less  to  each  other  than  we 

303 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

are,  and  yet  you  reproach  me  with  my  infidelities.  I 
can't  understand  why.  I  can't  even  understand  why  you 
married  me.  If  you  had  ever  loved  me  " — (he  was 
busy  with  the  pencils,  he  never  saw  the  slowly  rising 
blood  creeping  up  even  to  the  roots  of  her  hair) — "  but 
you  never  did,  even  at  the  first.  I  suppose  you  could 
not  resist  that  craving  you  had  to  show  what  you  could 
do  with  me,  how  you  could  push  me.  Lettice,  don't 
you  want  to  accept  half  of  my  earnings,  and — and  take 
your  freedom — your  legal  freedom,  I  mean — without 
any  blame  being  attached  to  you?  Lettice,  cast  back 
my  name,  you  can't  care  for  it  longer.  See,  I  humble 
myself  to  entreat  your  favor  in  this  matter!  Accept 
your  freedom — become  once  more  Lettice  Row- 
land!" 

And,  as  the  urgent  voice  ceased,  Lettice  asked, 
coldly :  "  Why  ?  "  and  then  had  followed  the  silence. 

And  the  man  with  the  restless  fingers  saw  all  the 
time  the  dark,  stricken  face  of  the  girl  he  loved,  and 
seemed  to  hear  the  rapid,  uneven  footfalls  of  the  young 
creature  pursued  by  bitter  memories  through  the 
heavy  hours  of  the  night,  and  the  perspiration  stood 
upon  his  forehead. 

The  pale  eyes  opposite  that  watched  saw  he  suffered, 
and  bitterness  grew  evenly  with  the  wonder  that  filled 
her  heart.  She  was  a  tenacious  woman,  one  who 
would  even  hold  fast  a  thing  which  she  no  longer 
valued,  simply  because  it  belonged  to  her.  She  was 
clever  and  shrewd,  and  she  was  making  some  aston- 
ishingly correct  deductions  from  Thrall's  looks  and 
manner  as  well  as  his  words.  Hitherto  his  amours  had 

304 


"I  Will  Not  Divorce  You" 

been  lightly  formed  and  lightly  broken,  and  she  had 
been  conscious  at  times  of  a  sort  of  contemptuous  pity 
for  the  women  whose  reign  she  knew  would  be  so  brief 
— but  this  was  different.  She  had  known  last  night — 
she  told  herself,  she  had  seen,  she  had  heard  the  new 
tenderness  in  his  glance  and  tone.  She  saw  in  Sybil 
a  new  type  of  rival,  a  creature  of  intelligence  as  well 
as  of  beauty ;  and  then  and  there  had  lighted  even  the 
dull  anger  that  was  burning  in  her  now.  She  looked 
at  his  goodly  length  of  limb,  at  his  well-shaped,  closely 
cropped  head,  at  the  black  sweep  of  lashes  she  knew 
he  hated.  A  sudden  quiver  came  about  her  pale  lips 
as  she  recalled  how,  in  their  early  married  days,  she 
had  often  called  his  attention  to  something  on  the  floor 
just  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  their  silky  length  sweep 
downward.  He  had  never  known,  or  he  would  prob- 
ably have  repeated  the  deed  of  his  boyhood,  when  in  a 
rage  he  had  cut  them  off  close  to  the  lids  and  had  been 
shut  up  under  the  doctor's  care  in  consequence.  And 
now  he  wanted  her  to  give  him  up. 

"  Why  ?  "  She  had  not  known  that  she  had  spoken 
the  word  until  his  start  told  her.  Then  he  said,  slowly : 

"  You  would  be  happier,  I  think,  Lettice "  (he 
smiled  faintly).  "You  would  not  be  distressed,  then, 
by  my  bad  conduct,  you  know." 

"  Your  consideration  for  my  feelings  is  as  touching 
as  it  is  novel,  but  it  is  not  a  convincing  reason  for  the 
putting  away  of  a  wife." 

"A  wife?"  repeated  Thrall,  as  he  raised  his  eyes 
and  looked  steadily,  meaningly,  at  her.  "  I  think  the 
precise  and  unemotional  dictionary  itself  will  describe 

305 


A  Pasteboard   Crown 

wife  as  a  '  woman  united  to  a  man  by  marriage.'  Are 
we  united,  Lettice?  It  is  nearly  three  years  since  our 
tenderly  emotional  public  parting  at  the  steamer,  but 
our  real  parting  dates  much  farther  back." 

She  interrupted,  to  say,  sharply :  "  Well,  no  one 
knows  of  that,  and  I'm  sure  my  presence  in  London 
was  of  great  service  to  you.  At  least  two  important 
plays  would  have  escaped  you,  but  for  me  and  my 
clever  planning." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  a  little  weariedly.  "  But  I  was 
not  speaking  of  our  relations  as  manager  and  agent — 
they  are  quite  satisfactory;  but  I  was  about  to  state 
that  while  I  am  not  an  unmarried  man — I  am  wife- 
less." 

"  Ah !  "  she  ejaculated ;  "  that  never  troubled  you 
before!" 

He  paid  no  heed,  but  went  on,  steadily :  "  The  law 
cannot  put  us  one  inch  farther  asunder  than  we  are 
now,  but  it  can  free  us  from  this  hypocrisy  and  pre- 
tence, and  restore  us  our  dignity  and  independence 
and  freedom." 

"  My  friend,"  came  in  the  well-modulated  voice  that 
was  the  sole  charm  of  the  woman  opposite,  "  do  you  then 
take  me  for  a  fool?  It  required  two  to  make  our  bar- 
gain, it  will  require  two  to  break  it.  I  am  Mrs.  Stew- 
art Thrall  as  surely  to-day  as  I  have  ever  been.  You 
have  broken  your  vows;  but  I  have  kept  mine,  at  least 
[in  answer  to  an  accusing  look]  I  have  not  broken 
them — I  have  been  loyal." 

"  Why?  "  dryly  put  in  Thrall. 

A  little  of  color  came  into  her  face  as  she  answered: 
306 


"I  Will  Not  Divorce  You" 

"From  self-respect,  sir!  I  have  pushed  your  inter- 
ests, I  have  seen  you  rise,  and  I  mean  to  stand  by  your 
side  and  share  your  honors!  You  are  mine!  You 
can't  divorce  me,  and  I  won't  divorce  you,  without 
more  reason  than  this  new  whim  of  yours  for  a 
swarthy,  black-browed  girl  with  a  red  mouth  that  you 
will  tire  of  in  six  months'  time,  and  who,  in  spite  of 
her  good  breeding,  which  is  evident  enough,  may  give 
you  sufficient  trouble  for  you  to  be  glad  to  have  this 
marriage  service  to  hide  behind !  " 

"Lettice!"  cried  Thrall,  springing  to  his  feet,  "so 
help  me  God,  you  tempt  me  to  strangle  you!  Oh, 
but  see  here!  You  are  hard  as  nails  in  seeming,  but 
how  can  I  tell  what  is  in  your  heart?  Perhaps  it  is 
big  and  generous  and  warm  enough  to  pity  the  inno- 
cent victim  of  your  husband's  lust;  yes,  and  there  you 
have  a  reason  strong  enough  for  a  divorce." 

Perhaps  she  might,  in  sheer  swift  contempt,  have 
cast  him  his  freedom  had  he  not  blundered,  as  men 
will  in  their  dealings  with  women;  and,  in  a  sudden 
passionate  burst  of  love  and  pity  and  remorse  for  the 
girl  not  yet  twenty  years  old,  whose  life  and  honor 
were  resting  in  their  hands,  "  prayed  her  to  be  gener- 
ous and  great  in  magnanimity;  to  leave  him  free  to 
right  the  horrible  wrong  he  had  done,  and  in  return 
to  accept  his  life-long  service,  his  reverent  friend- 
ship! "  His  eyes  were  misty,  his  voice  was  trembling, 
his  very  soul  was  at  his  lips. 

She  rose,  and,  looking  coldly  into  his  pleading  face, 
she  said :  "  I  am  Mrs.  Stewart  Thrall.  I  will  not  be 
cast  aside! " 

307 


Patiently  he  answered :  "  I  ask  you  to  put  me 
away ! " 

Steadily  she  resumed:  "I  will  not  act  against  the 
law.  Collusion  is  illegal!  " 

He  picked  up  a  book,  and  bent  it  back  and  forth 
unconsciously. 

"  You  are  my  husband!  " 

"  That  is  false !  "  he  said,  sharply. 

"  In  the  eyes  of  the  law,"  she  went  on,  unheedingly, 
"  if  I  choose  to  condone  your  offences,  that  is  suffi- 
cient. Your  light  o'  love  is  naught  to  me.  /  have 
been  a  faithful  wife ! "  Thrall  laughed  aloud. 

"  Hereafter  I  shall  live  here  at  your  side.  I  will  not 
divorce  you,  and  so  give  you  to  another.  I  shall  re- 
main Mrs.  Stewart  Thrall,  while  I  live  and  while  I  die. 
I  am  a  good  woman,  and  therefore  you  cannot  be 
divorced  by  any  law  on  earth ! " 

Glancing  down  at  the  book,  Thrall  saw  it  was  Mil- 
ton's "  Paradise  Lost,"  and,  flinging  it  on  the  table, 
he  cried:  "  I  wonder  why  Milton  didn't  make  a  virtu- 
ous woman  the  keeper  of  the  gate  of  hell ! " 

As  he  left  the  room  he  added :  "  Lettice,  against 
your  hard,  repellent  virtue  a  generous  sinner  shines 
like  an  angel!"  And  he  went  forth  to  the  bitterest 
hour  of  his  life — his  next  meeting  with  Sybil  Lawton. 


308 


CHAPTER  XXV 
"TO  LOVE  is  TO  FORGIVE" 

The  troubles  of  the  young  are  tragic  in  their  in- 
tensity, and  during  that  night  of  despair  Sybil  had  suf- 
fered keenly,  cruelly,  hopelessly.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  she  had  fallen  into  an  abyss  from  which  rescue 
was  impossible.  For  the  first  time  she  realized  that  in 
the  recklessly  generous  giving  of  her  love  there  had 
been  destroyed  something  more  precious  even  than 
the  "  alabaster  box  "  so  recklessly  shattered,  centuries 
ago,  by  a  loving  woman  in  the  eager  doing  of  a  more 
sacred  homage. 

The  bitterness  of  her  fall  revealed  to  her  how  great 
her  pride  had  been,  and  at  first  a  furious  resentment 
filled  her  heart  against  the  man  who  in  love's  name 
had  so  humbled  her.  Looking  back  through  the  golden 
light  of  that  time  of  perfect  joy,  she  tried  to  see 
what  path  had  led  her  to  the  precipice,  to  understand 
why  she  had  not  resisted  and  held  back.  Then  slowly, 
very  slowly,  it  dawned  on  her  that  opportunity  had  been 
the  lure  that  gently  led  her  into  a  laxity  that  almost 
imperceptibly  through  remissness  became  latitude. 
Her  daily  carefully  guarded  companionship  with 
Stewart  Thrall  at  Mrs.  Van  Camp's  home  had  placed 
her  upon  a  friendly  footing  of  perfect  confidence,  and 
he  was  so  great  he  must,  she  thought,  be  good;  and 

309 


A   Pasteboard  Crown 

so  she  had  scarcely  noticed  when  at  Stivers's  house 
he  first  read  her  her  Tennyson,  sitting  at  her  feet, 
leaning  against  her  knee,  and  had  paid  no  heed  to  the 
increasing  frequency  of  those  afternoon  demands  for 
Stivers's  presence  at  the  theatre  wardrobe-room;  and 
when  she  played  for  him  upon  the  little  upright  piano, 
standing  across  the  corner  of  the  room,  it  had  not 
startled  her,  when  he  was  turning  her  music,  to  feel 
him  drop  a  kiss  into  her  wavy,  up-gathered  hair.  Ex- 
perience and  opportunity  as  against  inexperience  and 
foolish  trust! 

Again  the  words  of  Juliet  came  to  her  lips :  "  Known 
too  late !  known  too  late !  "  And  Juliet  thought  her- 
self unhappy — unhappy,  when  she  was  not  shamed, 
when  she  was  loved! 

"Oh!"  she  wrung  her  hands  hard,  "he  seemed — 
he  truly  seemed  to  love  me!  His  beautiful  eyes 
glowed  so!  His  lips  had  a  smile  that  seemed  for  me 
alone!  But  then,  dear  God!  I  forget  now,  as  I  for- 
got then,  he  is  an  actor!"  She  laughed  contemptu- 
ously. "A  great  actor!  and  I  have  helped  to  pass 
away  those  weary  hours,  when  he  was  bereft  of  the 
gayety  of  the  joyous  Mrs.  Thrall !  " 

For  women  know  one  another  well,  and,  as  Sybil 
had  passed  on  Stivers's  arm  that  night,  Mrs.  Thrall 
had  sent  a  merry  laugh  forth,  apropos  of  nothing 
spoken,  but  simply  to  pierce  the  lonely  girl's  heart 
with  jealous  pain — and  she  had  succeeded  perfectly. 

The  long,  sleepless  night  of  agony  and  shame  had 
left  its  mark  on  the  girl,  young  and  strong  as  she  was. 
Her  room,  made  bower-like  with  ferns  and  palms  and 

310 


"To  Love  is  to  Forgive" 

many  scarlet  poinsettias  (Thrall  taboo'd  all  perfumed, 
growing  plants  there)  seemed  to  accentuate  the  lan- 
guor and  the  weariness  of  its  girlish  occupant. 
Wrapped  in  a  Japanese  kimona,  white  and  gold  out- 
side and  peachy  pink  within,  with  wavy,  densely  dark 
hair  tucked  up  carelessly  with  a  big  shell  comb,  the 
bluish  shadows  beneath  her  heavy  eyes,  the  level  brows 
drawn  close,  and  the  sullen,  red  mouth  all  unsmiling, 
she  looked  a  very  tragic  young  figure  and  pitiful 
withal,  to  the  haggard  gaze  of  Stewart  Thrall,  the  man 
who  loved  her  and  had  wronged  her. 

He  stood  before  her,  very  erect,  very  pale.  His 
dark-blue  eyes,  guiltless  of  amorous  droop,  wide  and 
bright,  had  in  them  a  strained  intensity  of  regard  that 
was  painful.  Raw  soldiers,  under  waiting  orders, 
though  yet  in  sight  of  action,  wear  just  that  expression 
of  strained  vision — of  desperate  self-control.  At  first 
sight  of  him  Sybil  had  felt  her  tired  heart  give  a  glad 
upward  spring  in  her  breast,  and  her  impulse  was  to 
fly  into  his  arms  for  shelter,  and  there  to  weep,  and 
weep,  and  weep — while  he,  in  fond,  foolish  fashion, 
kissed  and  beat  her  slim  hand  softly  against  his  cheek 
— just  as  might  the  mother  of  a  little  wailing  child. 
But  suddenly  she  seemed  to  see  beside  him  the  pale, 
ashen-blonde  woman,  who,  from  the  shadowy  box, 
had  so  tormented  her,  and  who  later  stood  beneath  the 
blazing  lights,  and,  holding  fast  the  arm  of  this  man 
— her  husband — had  sent  forth  that  mocking,  tri- 
umphant laugh,  that,  like  a  hate-sped  arrow,  had 
fairly  reached  its  victim's  heart,  where  it  would 
rankle  for  many  a  day  to  come!  And  she  checked 

311 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

the  impulse,  and  asked,  instead,  "  What  brings  you 
here?" 

"  Sybil !  Sybil !  "  the  man  pleaded. 

She  looked  at  him  with  gloomy  eyes,  and  said, 
slowly :  "  My  father  is  an  old  man,  esteemed  weak 
even  by  his  family ;  yet,  being  one  of  those  old-fash- 
ioned absurdities — a  gentleman — he  values  the  honor 
of  his  daughters  so  highly  that  if  he  knew  the  truth 
he  would  surely  kill  you,  Mr.  Thrall !  " 

"  And  he  would  be  within  his  rights,"  gravely  as- 
sented Stewart. 

"  But,"  continued  the  girl,  in  coldly  contemptuous 
tones,  "  after  all,  we  are  not  properly  located,  geo- 
graphically, for  such  a  deed.  I  lack,  too,  the  instinct- 
ive love  of  carnage  that  makes  the  shedding  of  an 
enemy's  blood  necessary  to  the  girl  of  the  tropics, 
when  the  wrecking  of  her  honor  has  been  the  amuse- 
ment of  some  married  man !  " 

Thrall  stood  as  if  he  had  received  the  cut  of  a  whip, 
but  said  nothing — not  one  word. 

"  Why  are  you  here  ? "  she  broke  out  then  more 
hotly.  "  Your  coming  is  an  insult  to  me !  Perhaps, 
pitying  my  loneliness  and  now  having  made  me  a 
fit  companion  for  the  Manice,  you  may  be  about  to 
remove  the  embargo  formerly  placed  upon  my  asso- 
ciation with  her ! " 

He  turned  pained  eyes  upon  her  and  said,  faintly: 
"  Child,  you  strike  hard  and  deep,  but  don't  turn  the 
knife !  " 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried,  "  so  highly  placed,  so  powerful, 
so  flattered  and  so  sought,  why  could  you  not  pass 

3T2 


"To  Love  is  to  Forgive" 

me  by?  Why  need  you  stoop  to  break  so  poor  and 
lowly  a  thing  ?  You  were  cowardly !  you  were  cruel ! 
No  wonder  you  are  silent — had  you  no  truth,  no 
honor,  no  love?  " 

He  answered,  still  very  low :  "  Of  truth  and  honor, 
very  little,  but  love?"  he  looked  at  her  with  devour- 
ing eyes,  "  dear  God,  love?  " 

And  she  repeated  bitterly,  jeeringly :  "  Love  ?  You, 
a  married  man  ?  " 

He  smiled  a  little  and  answered,  gently :  "  Love 
comes  as  it  wills,  and — and — "  There  he  stopped, 
for  he  saw  by  the  horror  in  her  eyes  that  for  the  first 
.time  she  saw  in  their  relations  simply  sin,  bereft  of 
all  sophistry,  and  he  was  dumb — he,  the  clever,  the 
brilliant,  usually  so  full  of  subtlety  and  finesse,  who 
in  a  like  situation  in  the  past  would  have  laughingly 
denounced  the  folly  of  blushing  for  an  undiscovered 
sin,  or  have  gayly  taught  his  fair  companion  in  guilt 
that  eleventh  commandment,  so  dear  to  the  worldly 
man  and  the  light  woman :  "  Be  ye  not  found  out, 
for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  the  Successful."  He 
stood  with  all  the  artifices  stricken  from  him,  incapable 
of  specious  argument,  of  trick  or  wile  of  any  kind. 
Erstwhile,  where  money  had  had  power  to  tempt,  he 
had  seen  that  money  had  power  to  comfort,  too — but 
not  here  !  not  here  !  Where  grief  and  passionate  re- 
proach looked  from  eyes  that  yesterday  had  shone  all 
radiant  with  love — her  glory  then — her  shame  to- 
day! And  all  there  was  of  manhood  in  him  was 
roused  to  vehement  longing  to  honor  publicly  the 
creature  whom  he  had  secretly  dishonored. 

313 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

"  Oh !  "  she  moaned,  helplessly,  "  what  shall  I  do 
with  my  life !  I  am  ashamed  to  look  back — I  am 
afraid  to  look  forward !  They  said  there  was  no  sex 
in  art!  And  when  you  showed  such  patience  with 
me  and  my  ignorance,  I  almost  worshipped  you,  and 
hoped  art  might  make  me  as  generous  in  time !  But 
it  was  your  approval  I  toiled  for !  It  was  your  acting 
that  I  strove  to  emulate !  Perhaps  you  thought  I  was 
not  grateful ;  but,  oh,  I  was !  I  was !  And  I  used  to 
think  if  I  ever  wore  the  dramatic  crown  I  yearned 
for,  I'd  proudly  tell  to  all  the  world  whose  hand  had 
placed  it  in  my  reach !  Perhaps  if  you  had  known 
how  humbly  grateful  I  was,  you  would  not  have  made 
me  pay  this  awful  price !  " 

The  man's  jaws  clenched  so  tightly  that  their  out- 
lines showed  white  on  his  cheeks. 

"  As  a  conquest,  Mr.  Thrall,  I  am  scarcely  worthy 
of  your  skill,  and  yet  my  being  a  '  society  debutante ' 
may  add  a  slight  fillip  of  novelty  to  the  old,  old  story 
of  ruined  girlhood — such  trifles  help,  no  doubt,  to 
keep  up  an  actor's  popularity !  " 

"  You  are  very  cruel !  "  he  groaned. 

"  I?  "  she  cried,  accusingly,  "  I  am  cruel  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  is  cruel  to  take  pleasure  in  another's  pain, 
but — "  He  closed  his  eyes  an  instant,  and  then  went 
on  very  patiently.  "  I  may  not  ask  you  for  mercy. 
Being  guilty,  it  is  right  I  should  suffer !  " 

"Suffer?"  she  repeated,  unbelievingly.  "You? 
Why  should  you  suffer,  pray?  You  have  hung  a 
millstone  about  my  neck  for  life!  But  you  go  light- 
ly enough  along  the  conqueror's  path!  You  suffer 

3*4 


"To  Love  is  to  Forgive" 

— from  what?  You  have  done  nothing  to  unfit  you 
for  your  world !  You  will  be  feasted  and  banqueted 
as  usual;  you  are  quite  secure  with  your  fashionable 
clientele  of  women,  who  will  applaud  you  raptur- 
ously, while  looking  upon  me  as  forever  defiled ! " 
Then,  rather  wildly,  she  added :  "  You  said  the  crown 
you  promised  me  was  pasteboard,  but  you  did  not 
tell  me  it  was  wreathed  inside  with  thorns!  Oh, 
why  have  you  betrayed  my  adoring  faith  in  you! 
What  have  I  ever  done  to  harm  you?  Why — why 
in  God's  great  name — why  have  you  so  deceived 
me?" 

Slowly  he  answered :  "  I  thought  you " 

"  Do  not  dare ! "  gasped  Sybil,  "  do  not  dare  add 
a  last  infamous  insult  to  cruel  injury  by  telling  me 
you  thought  I  knew  you  were  married !  " 

"  At  first,"  he  persisted,  "  I  supposed  you  knew ; 
then  when  I  found  you  did  not,  I — I — was  in  the 
grasp  of  a  merciless  passion.  Dear,  I  could  not  speak ! 
I  could  not,  I  tell  you!  Sybil!  beloved!  I  would 
step  between  you  and  death  without  the  flicker  of  an 
eyelash!  I  would  give  my  life's  blood  for  you  as 
freely  as  a  cup  of  water !  Yet,  I — who  would  gladly 
defend  you  from  a  world,  was  not  strong  enough 
to  defend  you  from  myself — from  the  love  that  pos- 
sessed me  utterly — at  whose  fire  I  relit  ambition — ro- 
mance— the  desire  for  high  achievement!  You  be- 
lieve me  guilty  of  a  mere  base  passion ;  you  are 
wrong!  Doubtless  there  are  men  in  the  world  who, 
loving  even  as  I  loved  you,  could  have  held  their  feel- 
ings well  in  leash,  sealed  their  lips  for  honor's  sake, 

315 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

but  that  power  would  come  from  long  training  and 
much  practice  in  self-denial — not  from  one  sporadic 
effort  of  self-control!  And  I,  oh,  child,  flattered  by 
the  world — vain,  egotistical,  and  spoiled — when  had 
I  acquired  strength  through  patient  endurance  or 
through  temptations  resisted?  I  was  incapable  of 
self-abnegation;  I,  who  had  denied  myself  nothing 
all  my  life  long,  could  not  begin  by  denying  my  des- 
perate love  the  possession  that  it  longed  for!  For 
men  are  like  that,  dear,  in  spite  of  your  contemptuous 
unbelief.  Be  they  good  or  be  they  bad,  be  they  ever 
so  reverently  true,  their  senses  will  demand  posses- 
sion of  the  beloved.  And  I  was  so  desolate — so 
lonely!  There  was  not  even  friendship  within  the 
whited  sepulchre  of  my  domestic  life." 

The  girl  shrank.  "  Don't !  "  she  cried,  "  don't  add 
to  cruelty  and  cowardice — treachery  to  her !  She  is 
very  cruel,  but  then  a  good  wife  who  suspects  a  wrong 
to  her  love  has  a  right  to  be  cruel !  " 

"  Oh,  you  innocent,  just  soul ! "  the  man  cried. 
"  Yes,  she  is  cruel  in  very  deed,  since  being  a  wife 
in  name  alone  these  years  past  she  yet  clings  tena- 
ciously to  that  empty  title.  She  has  not  enough 
womanly  pride  to  free  the  man  who  earnestly  pleads 
to  be  released,  whose  chill  indifference  protects  her 
from  temptation.  She  is  technically  a  loyal  wife,  but 
practically  a  foe — a  sort  of  satiric  keeper  of  the  rec- 
ords of  my  life.  '  A  wrong  to  her  love/  you  said. 
You  generous  child,  she  does  not  know  what  love 
means,  but  she  does  know  her  legal  rights;  and  to 
my  agony  will  maintain  them  to  the  last,  since  the 

316 


"  To  Love  is  to  Forgive " 

shibboleth  of  her  life  is :  '  What  will  the  world  say  ?  ' 
Yes,  she  is  very  cruel !  " 

Sybil  shivered  as  she  recalled  the  contemptuous 
slow  smile,  the  unrelenting,  inquisitorial,  pale  eyes, 
but  answered :  "  I  suppose  I  should  be  cruel,  too,  if 
I  were  a  wronged  wife."  She  stopped;  the  blood 
rushed  in  a  scarlet  tide  over  all  her  shamed,  pained 
face.  "  A  wife  ?  " — she  gave  a  gasp  and  put  her  hand 
to  her  throat  as  if  to  remove  some  stricture  there. 
"  I  may  never  be  a  wife !  Marriage  is  honorable ! 
Dorothy  may  wed,  but  I — "  And  then  an  agonized 
cry  rang  through  the  house :  "  Dorothy !  oh,  Dor- 
othy !  Little  sister !  I  have  lost  you !  I  shall  not 
dare  to  look  into  your  honest  eyes,  lest  you  should 
see  the  sin  in  mine!  I  may  not  kiss  your  lips  or 
touch  your  cheek,  nor  ever  again  pillow  your  dear 
head  upon  my  arm  the  long  night  through  because 
of  the  pollution  on  my  life  that  makes  me  base,  un- 
worthy, and  unfit  associate  for  innocence  like  yours !  " 

"  Be  silent ! "  savagely  interrupted  Thrall,  with 
death-white  face. 

"  I  have  fallen  to  a  level  with  the  creatures  you  pity 
in  the  street,  little  sister !  I  am  defiled  forever ! " 
And  she  fell  prone  upon  the  couch  in  an  agony  of 
tears. 

Thrall  sprang  at  her  like  a  tiger;  he  dragged  her 
to  a  sitting  position  among  the  tumbled  cushions, 
and,  grasping  her  shoulders,  he  rocked  her  back  and 
forth  in  savage  rage,  crying :  "  How  dare  you  ?  how 
dare  you,  I  say?  You  have  been  pleased  to  call  me 
coward  many  times  to-day,  but  you  have  the  bitter 

317 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

right  to  say  what  you  will  to  me,  and  I  must  bear  it 
patiently  because  I  merit  more  even  than  you  say; 
but  I  am  not  coward  enough  to  stand  by  and  hear 
you  blaspheme  against  yourself!  I,  by  every  wile 
at  my  command,  by  the  compelling  charm  and 
strength  of  a  great  love,  and  by  your  ignorance  of 
human  nature,  have  led  you  into  a  breach  of  the  law ! 
Well,  the  fault  is  mine — God  knows  that !  You  vile  ? 
you  defiled?  how  dare  you?  You  are  as  pure  in 
heart  as  any  earthly  creature  can  be !  Your  sense  of 
honor,  your  respect  for  duty,  your  high  ideals  have 
made  deception  and  falsehood  hateful  to  me !  Your 
quick  sympathy  for  those  who  suffer  has  made  me 
more  considerate  of  the  feelings  of  those  about  me ! 
What  have  you  done — what  have  you  to  blush  for? 
You  have  been  guilty  of  a  generosity  that  brings  me 
to  my  knees  in  adoration !  All  glorious  as  the  morn- 
ing, without  suspicion,  without  fear,  having  given 
your  great  heart,  with  royal  prodigality  you  gave 
yourself!  You  obeyed  the  instinct  nature  placed  in 
you,  in  loving  so !  How  dare  you,  then,  compare 
yourself  to  those  unfortunates  who  sell  their  forced 
and  painted  smiles?  How  dare  you — you,  pure- 
hearted,  proud,  gifted,  clean-minded?  Have  I  been 
rough  to  you?  Forgive  me,  sweet,  but  you  nearly 
drove  me  mad,  and — and  I  suffer,  Sybil !  " 

He  sank  at  her  feet,  and  laid  his  brow  against  her 
knees. 

She  trembled,  but  did  not  speak. 

"  Beloved,"  he  went  on,  "  I  only  live  through  you ! 
My  soul  is  yours !  I  worship — I  adore  you !  Let  me 

318 


*c  To  Love  is  to  Forgive " 

serve  you !  I  dare  not  say  forgive,  but  try  to  forget 
this  private  pain  in  public  triumph.  You  have  great 
gifts;  don't  neglect  them.  You  are  a  fashion  now — 
if  I  live  you  shall  have  fame.  You  shall  not  be  hippo- 
dromed,  as  I  was,  into  the  success  that  stifles  faith  in 
the  purity  of  art,  the  prosperity  that  swallows  up 
energy  and  sincerity." 

She  sat  as  in  a  trance,  her  heart  thrilling  to  the 
music  of  a  voice  that  even  the  public  found  irresist- 
ible. Half  her  torture  had  been  in  the  belief  that 
she  had  become  contemptible  in  his  eyes — that  she 
had  been  a  mere  "  pour  passer  le  temps  " ;  therefore, 
this  homage  had  something  of  comfort  in  its  respectful 
wording  as  he  went  on :  "I  have  experience,  knowl- 
edge, skill;  let  me  use  them  for  your  advancement. 
You  shall  be  left  free  to  study,  to  realize  your 
beautiful  ideals,  unhampered  by  commercial  ques- 
tions of  any  kind.  I  will  do  my  best,  my  very  best, 
to  warn  you  away  from  pitfalls  of  mannerisms;  to 
polish  and  refine  without  producing  artificiality.  The 
service  of  my  whole  life  shall  be  yours — the  sole 
object  of  my  life,  the  secure  placing  of  the  dra- 
matic crown  upon  your  head;  and  in  return  I  ask 
[he  held  out  empty,  trembling  hands]  such  scraps 
of  affection  as  may  fall  from  your  table  of  family 
love — such  crumbs  of  your  time  as  you  can  spare  to 
me!" 

And  that  humble  pleading  came  from  Stewart 
Thrall,  to  whom  love  had  been  before  such  a  tumultu- 
ous, triumphant  distraction  and  amusement ! 

The  girl  flushed  and  paled,  but  kept  her  sombre 

319 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

eyes  averted  from  the  face,  where  rage  had  changed 
to  tender  pity  and  passionate  pleading. 

"  Sybil  ?  "  he  almost  whispered. 

Still  she  was  silent.  It  was  very  hard  what  she  had 
in  mind  to  say.  This  winning,  gracious  man  had 
been  the  hero  of  all  her  girlish  dreams,  as  well  as  the 
honored  "  master,"  who  was  arbiter  of  her  fate, 
and  only  now  she  realized  how  he  had  absorbed  her 
life — how  hard  it  was  to  give  him  up,  all  in  a 
moment.  Poor  child !  this  second  peril  was  almost 
greater  than  the  first;  but,  worn  and  weary,  she 
was  incapable  of  reasoning,  of  seeking  out  motives 
then. 

"  Sybil  ?  "  came  again  the  dear,  tempting  voice,  "  if 
I  begged  for  bread,  you  would  not  treat  me  so !  Be- 
loved, answer  me !  "  Kneeling  there  he  reached  out 
his  arms  and  clasped  her  waist.  "  Answer  me,  at 
least ! " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  as  she  put  her  hands 
behind  her,  striving  to  break  his  strong  clasp,  she 
answered  confusedly,  brokenly :  "  I — I — can't — I  must 
go — go  quite  away!  You  must  know  that!  I — I — 
can't  play — ever — any  more !  " 

Very  compassionately  he  reminded  her :  "  You 
must  have  learned  before  this,  Princess,  the  inexor- 
able claim  of  the  stage.  Nothing  but  death  releases 
an  actor  from  duty." 

"Well,"  she  answered,  bitterly,  "that  Sybil  Law- 
ton  is  dead !  " 

His  face  contracted  painfully,  but  he  answered 
steadily :  "  The  world  does  not  know  that.  It  would 

320 


"  To  Love  is  to  Forgive " 

be  fatal  to  us  all  to  close.  I  am  sorry,  but  the  play 
must  go  on,  beloved." 

Like  lightning  she  recalled  the  warm  hand  press- 
ures, the  whispered  sweet  "  asides,"  the  passionate 
love-scene,  and  that  long  embrace  in  the  chamber 
balcony,  and  cried  out  sharply:  "  With  you?  with  you? 
I  must  act  again  with  you?  " 

His  arms  fell  from  her  waist ;  his  face  was  hard  and 
white  as  marble  as  he  rose  to  his  feet.  His  voice  was 
icy,  but  during  his  next  courteous,  chill  words  he  kept 
his  eyes  downcast  that  the  tears  might  not  bear  wit- 
ness to  his  pain. 

"  I  forgot,"  he  said,  "  that  you  were  not  experi- 
enced enough  to  sink  the  man  in  the  artist,  and — 
and  you  must  pardon  my  dulness,  but — I  did  not 
fully  appreciate  the — [he  moistened  his  unwilling, 
stammering  lips]  the  loathing  you  feel  for  me  per- 
sonally. I  have  proved  very  slow-witted,  but  I  am 
not  a  pachyderm,  and  my  intelligence  can  be  reached, 
you  see,  by  sharp,  stinging  pain.  Your  method  is 
severe,  Miss  Lawton,  but  eminently  successful.  I 
am  not  likely  to  forget  the  lesson  now  that  I  have 
learned  it." 

Sybil's  dark  eyes  dilated  with  pain.  Her  need  of 
sympathy  was  so  great  that  those  icy  tones  turned 
her  faint  with  misery. 

"  It  was  hard  enough  before,"  she  murmured,  and 
a  piteous  quiver  came  about  her  lips. 

He  had  been  mortified,  humbled,  and  wounded 
when  she  shrank  so  from  acting  with  him  again.  He 
thought  it  signified  bitter  hate,  unconquerable  aver- 

321 


A   Pasteboard  Crown 

sion ;  and,  instead,  it  had  been  an  expression  of  ter- 
ror, a  confession  of  a  weakness  which  she  only  began 
to  realize  when  she  found  how  hard  if  was  not  to 
yield  at  once  to  his  pleading.  There  was  something 
so  pathetic,  so  unconsciously  pleading  in  those  words, 
"  It  was  hard  enough  before,"  that  he  asked  par- 
don, and  went  gravely  on :  "  It  is  my  duty  to  obey 
your  wishes  so  far  as  my  power  goes.  I  cannot  take 
off  the  play;  you  will  understand  yourself  when  you 
have  time  for  thought,  but  being  a  gentleman,  at  least 
superficially  [he  corrected  himself  with  a  flush  rising 
to  his  face],  I  will  not  publicly  force  my  companion- 
ship upon  you  as  Romeo,  to  your  private  annoyance 
[his  voice  shook  a  little  in  spite  of  himself,  and  he 
paused  a  moment].  I  will  put  things  in  motion  at 
once — looking  to  your  relief." 

Sybil  sank  into  the  corner  of  the  couch,  and,  fold- 
ing her  arms  upon  a  pillow,  buried  her  face  in  the 
loose  sleeve  of  her  kimona. 

"  My  throat,"  he  went  on,  "  can  be  in  bad  shape, 
and  a  drop  of  atropia  now  and  then  will  keep  me 
hoarse  enough  for  our  purpose — just  at  first.  Young 
Fitzallan  [Sybil's  hand  clenched  suddenly],  who  is 
quite  up  in  the  lines,  will  take  my  place  '  at  short 
notice  to  oblige,'  and — and,  well,  after  a  while  we  will 
find  some  excuse  for  continuing  him  in  the  part. 
'  Sufficient  unto  the  day.'  I  have  to  scurry  a  bit  about 
the  printing  and  the  finding  of  the  young  man.  He 
will  have  to  wear  some  of  my  costumes;  you  won't 
mind  that,  I  hope — Monday  night  is  so  very  close. 
He  will  come  over  here  about  ten  or  half-past  in  the 

322 


"  To  Love  is  to  Forgive " 

morning  to  rehearse  with  you,  and  you  must  be  very 
exacting  about  the  '  business.'  See  that  nothing  is 
forgotten ;  the  public  is  quick  to  miss  anything  it  has 
become  accustomed  to.  The  balcony  scene  [the 
girl's  figure  seemed  to  writhe  among  the  cushions] 
is — very — important — and — "  He  stopped,  and  then 
quite  suddenly  he  turned  toward  the  door,  saying: 
"  I'll  do  my  best  to  save  you  from  the  degradation 
you  dread.  I'll  send  your  new  Romeo  to  you  early." 

Like  pictures  on  a  scroll,  she  saw  all  the  tender 
love-scenes,  growing  one  out  from  another,  ever 
sweeter,  stronger,  more  intense,  and  at  the  balcony 
of  Juliet's  chamber,  at  the  farewell  embrace — that  the 
applause  made  long — she  thought  "  another's  arms 
about  me,  another's  eyes  searching  mine,"  and  so, 
shuddering,  repulsion  seized  upon  her  and  wrung 
from  her  lips  the  cry :  "  No !  no !  don't !  Oh,  don't ! 
I  could  not  bear  it — I  should  die !  " 

She  was  standing,  one  bent  knee  among  the 
cushions,  leaning  forward  on  one  supporting  arm. 
He  turned.  "  Sybil — do  you  mean — you  will  have 
mercy  on  me — that  you  will  try  for  art's  sake  to  forget 
the  man  in  the  actor?  Oh,  beloved,  if  you  could  be- 
lieve !  To  my  arid  life  you  brought  freshness  and 
strength  and  reverence — yes,  in  spite  of  my  sin 
against  you,  oh,  wife  of  my  soul !  Pity  me !  my  sin 
is  very  hard  to  bear !  " 

Suddenly  she  stretched  out  her  arms  to  him.  With 
wide,  almost  unbelieving  eyes  he  sank  on  his  knees 
before  her,  asking,  faintly:  "You  pity  me?  But,  oh, 
you  cannot  forgive  ?  " 

323 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

She  took  his  head  between  her  hands  and  kissed 
his  brow,  saying:  "  To  love  is  to  forgive !  " 

He  gave  a  cry  and  started  to  his  feet.  A  deadly 
paleness  came  upon  her  face. 

"  I  am  not  strong  enough,"  she  said,  "  for  martyr- 
dom— alas!  I  am  no  child  of  light!  But  where  I 
love — be  it  strength  or  be  it  weakness — I  love  for- 
ever ! " 

His  arms  closed  about  her,  her  weary  head  sank 
upon  his  breast.  He  stooped  and  kissed  her  ten- 
derly, solemnly.  She  lifted  her  heavy  eyes  and  add- 
ed :  "  My  fidelity  shall  be  my  purification !  " 


324 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   OPAL 

Three  years  had  passed,  and  Sybil,  now  the  reign- 
ing queen  of  the  New  York  stage,  still  lived  in  the 
quiet  little  red  brick  house  among  the  West  Thir- 
tieths, to  the  great  indignation  of  Mrs.  Lawton.  In- 
side there  was  a  frank  luxury  clearly  explained  to 
love-sealed  eyes  by  that  one  elastic  word  "  salary  " ; 
though  an  observant  outsider,  noting  the  age-dark- 
ened, carved  wood,  the  rare  polar-bear  robes,  and  the 
exquisite  bits  of  bronze,  must  have  thought  her  a 
marvellously  lucky  buyer,  or  a  remarkably  well-paid 
actress.  But  there  were  no  such  observers  at  hand; 
perhaps  that  was  why  Sybil's  vine-dripping,  flower- 
crowded  windows  seemed  to  laugh  in  the  face  of  the 
grim,  shade-drawn  propriety  of  the  entire  block. 

At  the  rear  of  the  red  brick  house  was  a  small 
cooper  or  carpenter  shop  that  faced  on  the  other 
street.  It  had  long  been  unoccupied,  so  that  when 
Stivers  took  a  notion  to  hire  it  for  a  store-room  and 
sort  of  laundry,  she  got  it  cheap  ;  and  after  the  neigh- 
bors had  once  or  twice  seen  her  going  in  and  out, 
and  hanging  a  few  pieces  of  linen  to  dry,  there  was 
no  further  heed  paid  to  the  matter.  But  if  one  was 
very  intimate  with  Mrs.  Stivers,  and  received  from 
her  a  shop  key,  why,  one  could  both  enter  and  leave 

325 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

the  house  from  the  back  street  without  bothering 
with  the  front  door  bell. 

Sybil  had  "  overflowed,"  as  Dorothy  said,  and  had 
swept  away  Stivers's  too  dreadful  parlor,  and  in  its 
stead  there  was  now  a  library  and  sitting-room  com- 
bined— a  nook  glorious  in  winter  because  of  an  open 
fire  and  in  summer  made  dim  and  cool  by  many 
clambering  vines,  and  sweet  by  boxes  of  mignonette 
crowding  the  small  balcony,  a  room  full  of  the  scat- 
tered riches  of  rare  books,  of  carved  ivories,  of  mini- 
atures, of  bubbles  of  Venetian  glass,  beautiful  as  jew- 
els and  almost  as  precious,  a  room  for  study,  for 
dreams,  for  love,  and  sometimes  a  room  for  bitter 
brooding  and  regret. 

Visitors  to  this  house  were  a  rare  occurrence,  but 
Sybil  had  just  been  speeding  the  parting  guest  in  the 
person  of  her  mother,  who  was  "  to  pick  up  "  John  at 
Forty-second  Street,  and  thus  receive  protection  on 
the  homeward  ride  to  Riverdale ;  for  "  positively  in 
these  days,"  she  declared,  "  unless  you're  perfectly 
white  and  doubled  together  with  age,  men  ogle  you 
as  if  you  were  twenty.  There  was  a  dreadful  little 
pot-bellied,  Hebraic  person — that  sounds  queer, 
doesn't  it,  but  it's  an  absolutely  correct  expression 
and  perfectly  descriptive  of  the  man's  shape — and  I 
declare  to  you  he  kept  his  eyes  on  my  face  until  I  felt 
quite  agitated,  and  everyone  in  the  car  must  have 
noticed  his  conduct.  Yet  John  Lawton  was  so  un- 
feeling as  to  tell  me  that  if  I  stopped  looking  at  the 
man,  I  wouldn't  know  that  he  was  staring.  Not  know 
it,  indeed!  Why,  I  could  feel  anyone  ogling  me 

326 


The  Opal 


through  the  back  of  my  neck!  Still,  after  such  an 
experience,  I  hope  I  shall  not  miss  John !  " 

Mrs.  Lawton  had  devoted  one  of  her  three  days  to 
her  old  friend,  Mrs.  Van  Camp,  and  to  shopping,  and 
two  days  to  Sybil.  She  had  arrived  in  state,  and  af- 
ter a  supercilious  glance  at  her,  had  addressed  the 
owner  and  mistress  of  the  house  as  "  Stivers  " — 
though  Sybil  was  most  punctilious  in  calling  her  Mrs. 
Stivers.  She  had  so  traduced  the  coffee  (which  was 
perfect)  by  asking  "  if  the  blackness  was  not  the  re- 
sult of  licorice,"  that,  though  Jane  Penny  had  main- 
tained a  strictly  respectful  attitude,  murder  had 
shown  so  plainly  in  her  eye  that  Letitia  had  not  dared 
to  take  the  second  cup  she  longed  for,  for  fear  of 
poison.  And  when  she  was  alone  with  her  daughter 
she  remarked :  "  She's  a  cat,  that  Stivers !  Clean  and 
neat,  like  any  other  cat,  and  purry!  Oh,  yes,  she  can 
purr  about  you,  but  she's  crafty,  cunning,  shrewd ! 
You  keep  your  desk  locked,  my  dear!  She's  too 
soft-footed  for  my  taste;  she's  got  an  eye  for  a  key- 
hole, too !  " 

While  Jane  said  to  herself :  "  There's  a  vain  old 
cockatoo — overbearing,  hectoring,  using  her  high  and 
mighty  birth  as  an  excuse  for  wiping  her  shoes  on  us 
as  is  beneath  her.  I  guess  I  could  add  a  chapter  to 
her  family  history  that  would  take  the  wind  out  of 
her  sails  pretty  quick !  But  my  bank  book's  more 
important  to  me  than  her  nasty  slurs !  '  Stivers,'  in- 
deed !  It's  a  wonder  it  wasn't  '  Penny/  The  young 
ladies  don't  find  it  beneath  them  to  call  me  Mrs.  Of 
course  in  this  one  it  might  be  policy,  but  the  other 

327 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

one  does  it,  too.  It's  plain  enough  to  me  the  daugh- 
ters get  their  decent  manners  from  the  father.  A 
nice  old  man  that,  a  gentleman  clear  through  and 
always  welcome  here,  even  by  Mr.  Thrall;  though 
for  appearance  sake  he  does  then  have  to  come  hat 
and  stick  in  hand  and  make  a  proper  fifteen-minute 
or  half-hour  call  and  go.  Poor,  pale  old  gentleman ; 
he's  an  idolator,  if  ever  there  was  one,  just  bowing 
down  to  and  worshipping  those  girls  of  his'n.  If  he 
knew  the  secret  of  that  little  locked  closet  upstairs, 
if  he  knew  of  the  dinner-jacket,  the  lounging  robe 
hanging  there,  he'd  die  without  a  word  right  as  he 
stood.  Poor  old  gentleman!  But,  Lord!  how  our 
boss  does  hate  that  old  cockatoo !  and  how  she  does 
ko-tow  to  him  and  bridle  and  smirk !  Not  but  what 
she  looks  well  enough  at  the  supper-table,  for  with 
all  her  rouge  she  can  carry  her  clothes  well.  I  think 
Mr.  Thrall  dislikes  her  for  one  thing,  because  of  the 
likeness  he  sees  in  her  to  Miss  Sybil.  I  overheard 
her  saying  in  fun  to  him : '  I  shall  be  just  like  mamma 
when  I  am  as  old,'  and  he  said :  '  Then  for  God's 
sake  die  in  your  youth ! '  and,  though  she  tried  hard 
to  look  angry,  she  had  to  laugh,  and  he  looked 
ashamed  of  himself,  and  asked  pardon. 

"  It  does  beat  all,  how  long  this  affair  lasts.  Talk 
about  worshipping  the  ground  she  walks  on ;  I  believe 
he's  jealous  of  the  air  she  breathes.  Well,  my  nest 
is  getting  a  good  warm  lining,  for  they  are  both  gen- 
erous, and  she's  easy  to  serve  besides,  which  is  more 
than  I  can  say  of  the  Missus,  who  is  always  prowling 
about  the  wardrobe  room,  ready  to  make  a  fuss  about 

328 


The  Opal 


a  quarter  of  a  yard  of  gold  or  silver  lace,  or  an  inch 
or  two  of  linen-backed  velvet,  and  weighing  the  cam- 
phor-gum to  see  if  it  agrees  with  the  amount  men- 
tioned in  the  bill.  These  splendid  Shaksperian  pro- 
ductions deprive  her  of  the  delight  of  dickering  with 
authors  for  new  plays,  and  so  she  drives  Barney  wild 
by  her  visits  to  the  box-office,  and  keeps  tab  on  me 
in  the  wardrobe,  hoping  to  prevent  the  escape  of  a 
nickel  through  someone's  hands.  That  woman's 
heart — if  she  has  one — bears  the  dollar-mark,  I'll 
wager ! " 

In  the  library,  Sybil,  being  alone,  dropped  down  on 
an  old  French  tabouret,  and  with  chin  in  hand  fell  into 
a  reverie.  Her  other  hand  drew  from  her  bosom 
the  little  diamond  heart,  whose  centre  was  a  regis- 
tered ruby,  flawless  and  exquisite.  It  had  been  Stew- 
art's first  gift  to  her  after  she  had  forgiven  him,  and 
he  had  said,  very  earnestly :  "  The  real  value  of  this 
jewel  is  in  a  word  engraved  back  of  that  ruby.  No, 
beloved !  you  cannot  open  and  read  without  a  jew- 
eler's help,  but  if  the  locket  will  not  open  for  you, 
why,  when  you  have  to  remove  it  in  your  dressing- 
room,  it  will  not  open  for  another  and  betray  our 
secret.  No,  I  will  not  tell  the  precious  word — only 
wear  it  always.  If  the  ornament  is  not  suitable 
to  your  gown  or  the  occasion,  then  wear  it  inside 
and  out  of  sight — but  wear  it,  beloved,  for  my 
sake!-" 

And  now  she  wondered  still  what  was  the  word  that 
to  him  made  the  value  of  this  rare  gift?  Was  it  love? 
Was  it  forgiveness?  Was  it  beloved?  She  sighed  a 

329 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

little.  The  house  was  rather  lonely  since  her  father 
and  mother  had  departed.  They  had  come  down  to 
see  her  new  great  triumph  as  Beatrice  in  "  Much  Ado 
about  Nothing." 

Her  improvement  was  wonderful,  and  Thrall  had 
thrilled  with  pride  when  he  had  heard  it  commented 
upon.  For  Beatrice  is  a  test  part  that  combines 
comedy  the  lightest,  airiest,  and  most  polished,  with 
both  pathos  and  passion.  All  actors  know  that  more 
technical  knowledge  is  required  for  fine  high-comedy 
acting  than  for  sentiment  or  even  tragedy.  And  it 
would  have  been  a  bold  man  who  in  the  first  weeks 
of  Juliet  had  ventured  to  suggest  a  future  Beatrice 
in  the  inexperienced,  though  immensely  tragic, 
young  actress. 

Yet  here  she  was,  Thrall's  ideal  Beatrice,  well-born, 
well-bred,  beautiful,  graceful,  but  possessed  of  a 
young  devil  of  mockery  that  you  saw  dancing  in  her 
eyes  and  heard  in  her  bubbling  laughter.  The  stings 
of  her  wit  seemed  healed  by  the  honey  of  her  man- 
ner. Full  of  affectations,  airs,  and  graces  toward  the 
courtiers,  her  "  If  I  were  a  man ! "  speech  was  so  full 
of  tender  love  and  sorrow  for  her  injured  cousin 
Hero  that  its  final  hot  burst  of  rage  and  scorn  left  her 
with  tears  wet  upon  her  cheeks. 

And  consummate  artist  that  he  was,  Thrall  threw 
such  sudden  passionate  intensity  into  Benedick's  an- 
swer, "  By  this  hand  I  love  thee ! "  that  it  was  no 
wonder  the  act  brought  the  people  upstanding;  and 
one  old  playgoer  remarked  that  "  it  was  like  watch- 
ing an  exhibition  of  skilful  fencing,  where  flying 

330 


The  Opal 


sparks  made  you  uncertain  whether  the  bout  was 
friendly  or  a  duel  to  the  death." 

Thrall  had  kept  his  promise ;  he  had  warned  her 
away  from  so  many  pitfalls  that  some  of  the  critics 
declared  she  had  triumphed  through  what  she  had 
not  done  almost  as  much  as  through  what  she  had. 
She  had  avoided  the  absolute  shrewishness  with 
which  Beatrice  is  often  invested;  also  the  vindictive 
ferocity  of  the  "  If  I  were  a  man ! "  that  catches  the 
gallery,  while  it  "  makes  the  judicious  grieve,"  and 
wonder,  too,  why  Benedick  should  have  been  called 
upon  for  assistance  by  such  a  man-eating  creature. 
Neither  did  she  fire  her  best  witticisms  point-blank 
at  the  audience  and  pause — to  make  her  "  point." 
And  better  still,  she  avoided  that  strained,  unnatural 
merriment  that  makes  the  public  pity  the  evident 
fatigue  of  an  otherwise  satisfactory  Beatrice.  And 
this  last  bore  strongest  witness  to  the  depth  of  study 
she  had  given  to  the  play — yes,  the  play;  for  the 
actress  who  studies  only  her  own  lines  gains  but  the 
narrowest  and  baldest  view  of  the  character.  Sybil 
had  studied  the  environment  of  the  brilliant,  high- 
born, wilful  "  she  Mercutio,"  as  Jim  Roberts  in  an 
inspired  moment  of  intoxication  had  termed  Beatrice, 
in  order  to  know  in  what  manner  she  should  address 
her  impertinences  to  her  uncle — whether  with  a 
spoiled-child  daring,  made  pardonable  by  a  respect- 
ful bearing;  in  open  insolence,  or  in  veiled  dislike. 
So  she  studied  Leonato  carefully,  and  so  she  did  all  the 
characters  she  came  in  contact  with,  with  the  result 
that  her  manner  varied  according  to  her  varying 

331 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

companions;  and  the  tension  of  the  bow  was  not 
strained  to  the  breaking-point  at  any  time. 

Actors  and  certain  critics  knew  that  that  swallow- 
like  skimming  from  laughing  badinage  to  biting 
satire — that  fine  restraint,  that  incredible  lightness  of 
touch  was  backed  by  certainty,  that  certainty  meant 
knowledge,  and  that  knowledge  meant  work.  Yet, 
though  Thrall  told  her  again  and  again  that  she  had 
in  herself  the  same  mocking  spirit  that  informed 
Beatrice,  she  would  have  it  that  he  and  he  alone  had 
made  the  performance  possible  to  her.  And  though 
he  denied  it,  the  assertion  was  like  nectar  to  the  van- 
ity of  the  artist — like  balm  to  the  heart  of  the  man  who 
longed  to  serve  her. 

And  as  it  happened  the  newspapers  had,  in  so  many 
words,  hailed  her  as  Queen  of  the  Stage.  The  term 
had  not  been  inspired  by  a  suggestion  from  him.  It 
was  extravagant,  perhaps,  but  it  was  impromptu. 
And  as  he  read  it,  the  blood  swept  over  his  face  so 
redly  that  the  watchful  eyes  of  Mrs.  Thrall,  sitting 
behind  the  tea-urn  at  the  breakfast-table,  saw  and 
noted,  and  when  he  had  left  for  the  theatre,  she 
had  studied  eagerly  that  side  of  the  paper,  but  could 
not  solve  the  riddle  of  that  deep  flush  of  pleasure. 
For,  though  the  notice  of  the  play  was  very  flatter- 
ing to  his  Benedick,  he  could  not  be  moved  so  by 
the  praise  of  a  single  newspaper,  she  thought,  even 
though  he  triumphed  doubly  as  actor  of  a  part  and 
as  managerial  producer  of  nobly  correct  scenery. 

No,  she  could  not  solve  the  riddle;  she  could  never 
have  understood  that,  because  the  praise  had  not  been 

333 


The  Opal 


extorted,  it  was  doubly  precious,  or  that  one  who 
lauded  Sybil — magnified  him. 

"  Yes,"  the  girl  said  to  herself,  as  she  sat  there,  "  he 
has  crowned  me,  but — "  She  sighed,  and  turned  the 
ruby  to  catch  the  light.  "  I  wonder  what  your  mes- 
sage is  ?  One  word,  he  says ;  perhaps  it's  faith.  And 
yet,  no!  that  would  be  satirical.  What  is  there  to  be 
faithful  to — no  churchly  vows !  no !  "  she  bit  her  lip  to 
silence. 

She  missed  Dorothy  very  greatly,  now,  in  the  lull 
that  always  follows  the  hurry  and  excitement  of  pre- 
paring for  a  production,  for  an  irregular  love  is  a  great 
isolation — of  necessity. 

Dorothy,  now  two  years  a  wife,  had  become  so 
precious  that  she  might  no  more  be  permitted  to  pass 
through  that  tunnel  than  to  kneel  before  the  car  of  the 
Juggernaut.  Indeed,  Leslie  challenged  the  right  of  the 
very  winds  of  heaven  to  blow  too  harshly  on  her  face, 
and  if  any  sweet  folly  of  exaggerated  care  escaped 
him  John  Lawton  was  on  hand  to  bring  it  to  his  at- 
tention. 

"Ja!"  said  Lena,  who  was  herself  preparing  for 
marriage  to  her  "  Mickle,"  her  "  mash-man."  "  Ja,  my 
Miss  Lady,  I  youst  hav'  ter  make  of  der  lies  to  der 
Herr  Gaits  und  der  Herr  Boss  in  der  fron'  uf  der 
house,  und  keep  der'  tentions,  vile  der  Miss  Dorrie- 
Galts  com'  by  der  back  porch  und  find  out  uf  she's  got 
any  feet  on  der  legs.  Youst  vat  I  tell  you — der  Herr 
Mens  vatch  her  like  der  two  pig  cats,  und,  ven  she  get 
der  chance,  she  laf  und  say,  '  Lena !  com'  take  me  out 

333 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

uf  der  cottin'-battin'  quvick!  und  let's  see  den  uf  I 
break  ven  I  cross  der  room ! " 

When  the  news  had  reached  Sybil  first,  she  had  lain 
across  her  bed  and  sobbed  and  wept  the  night  away. 
But  next  day,  when  she  had  repeated  it  to  Thrall,  she 
had  withstood  the  piercing  inquiry  of  his  searching 
eyes,  until  she  heard  the  sigh  of  relief  that  told  her  he 
had  seen  no  sign  of  pain.  And  she  had  had  hard  work 
to  convince  him  that  the  splendor  of  the  gift  he  wished 
her  to  send  the  happy,  expectant  young  mother  would 
not  be  consistent  with  her  supposed  salary,  and  that 
Leslie  would  not  be  as  innocently  unobservant  as 
Dorothy. 

So  now  she  had  not  the  dear  pleasure  of  her  sister's 
occasional  visits.  Her  face  was  unutterably  sad.  Sud- 
denly she  stretched  her  arms  above  her  head,  in  the 
same  passionate  gesture  which  she  had  used  that  night 
at  the  old  White  house,  under  the  starry  sky,  and  now 
as  then  she  cried  out  against  the  bondage  that  held 
her!  Then  it  had  been  poverty — now  it  was  sin!  She 
wore  her  crown ;  she  lived  in  luxurious  comfort ;  Stew- 
art's loyalty  was  complete,  beyond  question,  but — 
"  Love  and  the  world  well  lost ! "  she  quoted,  and 
laughed  aloud — such  a  woful  little  laugh.  For  now, 
with  tear-washed,  experienced  eyes,  she  saw  the  awful 
error  she  had  made,  when  in  ignorant  young  passion 
she  had  declared  "  that  love  was  enough  " ! 

A  certain  austere  power  of  endurance  had  developed 
in  her  during  these  crowded  years.  She  neither  whim- 
pered nor  complained,  only  to  her  own  soul  she  ad- 
mitted that  lawful,  virtuous  living  was  better  than  love 

334 


The  Opal 


alone;  that  one  could  not  depart  from  rectitude  and 
morality  without  sorrow,  tears,  and  much  bitterness  of 
spirit.  Just  at  first  the  wild  sweetness  of  the  forbid- 
den fruit  enthralled  her — the  romance  of  secret  love, 
the  thrill  of  stolen  caresses,  of  fingers  pressed  under 
cover  of  a  stage  direction,  of  kisses  swiftly  given  upon 
the  little  "  scolding  "  lock  of  hair  upon  her  neck,  as 
he  deftly  and  gallantly  tied  her  veil  after  rehearsal,  the 
precious  rare  half-days  stolen  from  task-mistress  and 
the  world,  and  spent  with  her  among  the  palms  and 
poinsettias.  Then  all  the  levity  fell  from  him,  and  he 
was  at  his  fascinating  best — witty,  gracious,  tender, 
sympathetic,  wholly  free  from  the  smell  of  the  foot- 
lights that  some  actors  carry  about  with  them  all  their 
days.  The  tiny  notes  pressed  into  warm  palms,  the 
code  of  signals — had  all  been  so  deliciously  mysterious 
that  she  had  felt  herself  a  real  heroine  of  romance. 

"  Poor  little  fool !  "  she  murmured,  contemptuously 
now,  for  she  recalled  that  for  a  time  in  her  infatuation 
she  had  felt  how  ineffably  superior  was  her  own  ro- 
mantic, secret,  self-sacrificing  love  to  the  dull,  com- 
monplace, strictly  legalized  affection  of  Dorothy  and 
Leslie.  But  since  then — oh,  since  then!  she  had  had 
time  to  wake  from  her  beautiful  dream,  she  had  had 
time  to  think  and  to  suffer.  She  knew  now  that  the 
beautiful  temple  of  love  must  stand  on  a  foundation  of 
legality,  or  it  would  tremble  dangerously  under  every 
wind  that  blew !  She  no  longer  found  anything  to  de- 
ride in  the  word  "  propriety,"  since  she  had  come  in 
bitterness  of  spirit  to  realize  its  meaning  :  "  What 
ought  to  be — what  should  be."  And  dear  Dorothy's 

335 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

life  was  what  it  should  be,  and  she  had  peace  and  se- 
curity and  had  never  known  humiliation.  "  Humilia- 
tion! "  Sybil  twisted  her  hands  and  gasped  aloud, 
"God!  oh,  God!"  at  the  recollections  that  came  to 
her.  For  Stewart  Thrall's  wife  had  kept  her  word  and 
stood  at  his  side,  and  shared  his  popularity,  and  ap- 
plauded him  from  her  box,  and  called  him  "  dear  "  be- 
fore all  men  on  all  possible  occasions.  And  suspect- 
ing that  Sunday  evenings  might  not  be  spent  with 
"  the  boys,"  she  had  inaugurated  small  "  at  homes," 
to  give  her  dear  Stewart  a  chance  to  gather  his  valued 
friends  about  him  in  his  own  home.  And  he  who  had 
never  disregarded  public  opinion  felt  compelled  to 
dance  attendance  upon  his  wife  in  name,  who  held  him 
to  his  bond  for  her  vanity  and  convenience.  The  trite 
endearments  necessity  forced  from  his  lips  were  tort- 
ure to  Sybil  when  she  chanced  to  hear  them ;  and  oh, 
the  agony  of  a  woman,  who  is  secretly  loved,  when 
she  sees  the  man  who  is  hers — for  whom  she  has 
paid  with  her  pride  and  honor  and  self-respect — held 
to  the  side  of  another  woman,  by  her  legitimate  rights! 
Just  as  maddening  pain  will  sometimes  drive  a  suf- 
ferer to  press  upon  the  torturing  wound,  so  Sybil  would 
cry  to  herself:  "She  is  his  true  wife,  and  I  am  a — 
caprice! " 

It  was  not  true,  she  knew  it  was  not  true,  yet  a 
strange  necessity  for  self-torture  forced  her  to  repeat 
the  cruel  words,  as  it  forced  her  often  to  remind  Stew- 
art that  it  was  time  for  him  to  hasten  to  some  appoint- 
ment, to  drive  or  to  lunch  with  Mrs.  Thrall,  who  much 
enjoyed  displaying  publicly  the  devotion  of  her  actor- 

336 


The  Opal 


husband.  And  once,  when  Sybil  had  longed  to  attend 
a  sacred  concert  that  offered  her  an  only  opportunity 
to  hear  a  certain  great  singer,  she  had  been  forced 
either  to  accept  Roberts's  escort  or  remain  at  home, 
because  Mr.  Thrall  learned  at  the  last  moment  that 
Lettice  had  invited  a  large  party,  who  were  to  return 
afterward  and  sup  with  them  in  the  informal  way 
"  dear  Stewart  so  enjoys."  And,  having  swiftly  de- 
cided in  favor  of  a  long  evening  of  loneliness  at  home, 
taking  a  bitter  pleasure  in  her  own  suffering,  she  had 
tried  to  hasten  his  departure,  saying:  "  A  man  should 
never  keep  his  wife  waiting." 

And  in  sudden  passion,  shamed,  wounded,  angry, 
he  had  turned  upon  her,  forbidding  her  ever  to  so  mis- 
apply that  word  again.  "  If  you  must  call  her  Mrs. 
Thrall,  well,  be  it  so — that  is  enough  to  bear!  " 

But  Sybil  pressed  upon  the  wound,  insisting  obsti- 
nately :  "  But  she  is  your  wife !  "  and  he  had  doggedly 
contradicted :  "  No !  no !  She  is  a  sort  of  legalized 
money-changer  in  the  temple  of  marriage !  She  is  not  a 
wife !  Our  wedded  life  is  a  monstrous  hypocrisy !  We 
are  false  to  ourselves,  false  to  society,  false  in  word, 
deed,  and  thought!  And  yet  she  is  a  good  woman, 
whose  legal  and  technical  virtue  would  certainly  have 
given  her  the  valued  right  to  hurl  rocks  at  the  woman 
taken  in  adultery.  Wife?  She?  The  woman  whose 
companionship  dragged  me  down  to  a  lower  level  than 
that  at  which  she  found  me  ?  Oh,  I  see  in  your  cloudy, 
scornful  face  your  contempt  for  the  man  who  blames 
a  woman,  and  Lettice  Rowland  Thrall  should  not  be 
censured  for  not  giving  what  she  has  not  to  give !  But 

337 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

oh,  her  chains  are  very  heavy,  and  my  bondage  grows 
more  bitter  day  by  day!  Sometimes  I  think  that  I 
could  welcome  the  death  that,  taking  me  from  you, 
beloved,  would  at  least  free  me  from  her!  " 

Frankness  was  so  natural  to  Sybil's  nature  that  the 
secrecy  and  stratagem  of  intrigue  wearied  her;  the 
manoeuvring,  the  clandestine,  the  sly,  the  underhand, 
shamed  her.  She  knew  now  the  secret  of  the  window- 
curtained  door  in  Thrall's  private  office,  opening  on  a 
narrow  passage  that  led  up  a  stair  to  another  door 
opening  in  turn  behind  a  wardrobe  in  a  dressing-room 
— her  dressing-room  now  these  three  years.  And  Jim 
Roberts  knew  of  it,  too;  she  wondered  why,  and  red- 
dened as  she  glanced  toward  a  key  that  lay  in  an  open 
desk-drawer. 

"Oh!"  she  groaned,  "how  can  I  bear  it!  I  love 
him!  I  love  him!  but  it  is  not  right  that  love  should 
bring  only  dishonor !  I  do  not  need  churchly  vows  to 
keep  me  loyal!  I  shall  be  faithful  till  I  die;  but  I  am 
a  woman,  and  I  long  for  the  privileges  and  preroga- 
tives that  marriage  gives — and  that  she  receives !  " 

She  thought  that  she  hid  her  suffering — she  tried  to 
do  so,  and  sometimes,  in  her  work,  forgot  for  a  while 
her  false  position  and  the  weight  of  the  chains  she  had 
herself  forged.  But  those  brilliant  blue  eyes  saw  more 
than  she  guessed;  and  always,  beside  the  growing 
hatred  of  his  bitter  bondage,  there  was  the  agony  of 
fear  that  this  young  creature,  made  to  win  love,  would 
weary  of  the  double  life,  would  some  day  be  sought  by 
one  brave  enough  to  take  her  to  wife — knowing  all 
there  was  to  know!  He  saw  glowing  admiration  in 

338 


The  Opal 


the  eyes  of  men  young  and  free,  and  he  cursed  them  in 
his  heart  for  their  freedom,  for  he  knew  he  had  no 
claim  upon  her,  no  legal  tie  bound  her  to  him.  She, 
the  wife  of  his  heart  and  soul,  might  turn  from  him. 
Her  beautiful,  cloudy  face  might  flash  into  smiles  for 
another,  should  she  weary  of  him  and  of  his  secret  love. 
Therefore  his  days,  too,  were  often  days  of  torment, 
and  the  blonde  woman,  who  watched  them  both  with 
cold,  keen  eyes,  knew  much  and  understood  perfectly. 
She  believed  the  taste  for  forbidden  fruit  was  common 
to  all  men.  Thrall's  conduct  in  the  past  had  done  little 
to  dispel  that  belief ;  but  she  knew  now  that  his  love  for 
the  beautiful,  gifted  girl,  whose  faith  he  longed  to  jus- 
tify by  wedding  her,  was  a  real — and  oh!  galling 
thought — a  loyal  love !  In  the  past  her  suspicions  had 
often  borne  fruit,  and  she  could  recall  certain  gas-lit, 
laughing  trysts,  very  scant  of  secrecy,  mere  counterfeit 
amours,  that  he  had  lived  to  loathe,  and  she  knew  that 
this  was  no  such  caprice. 

When  he  escaped  for  a  little,  she  knew  that  he  was  at 
the  feet  of  the  girl  whose  sombre  eyes  were  so  woful 
that  sometimes  they  moved  her  heart  to  a  faint  throb 
of  pity.  A  nobler,  warmer,  more  self-sacrificing 
woman  would  have  set  them  free,  to  find  a  purer  faith, 
to  form  happier  ties.  But  Lettice,  forced  to  realize  the 
existence  of  this  great  mutual  love,  this  loyal  passion, 
watched,  and  slowly  grew  to  hate — intensely,  bitterly 
to  hate — them  both.  Verily  a  noxious  plant  is  illegiti- 
mate love,  and  its  poison  far-reaching ! 

"  Oh !  Dorothy !  "  cried  Sybil  to  the  silent  walls ; 
"  dear  little  mother  to  be !  I  shall  be  so  thankful  when 

339 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

you  can  once  more  bring  a  breath  of  honesty,  of  every- 
day open  frankness,  into  this  house !  " 

And  then  she  heard  a  step,  light  but  firm,  coming 
from  the  back  of  the  hall,  and  the  blood  rushed  into  her 
face  as  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  for  her  fear  was  great 
lest  the  approaching  man  might  read  her  grieving 
thoughts  in  her  face. 

He  entered,  and,  tossing  a  bunch  of  violets  to  the 
table,  came  to  her,  and,  taking  her  in  his  arms,  buried 
his  face  in  the  cloudy,  dark  hair  that  had  always 
tempted  him.  Presently  he  said :  "  I  should  have  been 
here  earlier,  sweetheart,  for  I  thought  you  would  be 
lonely  after  your  people's  departure."  (She  looked 
gratefully  at  him.)  "But  Jim  kept  me;  yes,  he  has 
broken  loose  again,  and  though  I  had  someone  take 
him  home  and  look  after  him,  I  was  so  doubtful  of  his 
being  able  to  play  to-night  that  I  gave  his  small  part 
to  an  understudy,  and  that  all  took  time." 

"  How  good  you  are  to  that  poor,  worthless  fellow ! 
I  don't  believe  any  other  man  in  the  world  would  be  so 
generous  and  so  patient  as  you  are." 

But  Thrall  said  quickly,  almost  sharply :  "  Don't — 
don't  say  that !  "  and  turned  away  his  face,  while  Sybil 
continued : 

"  But  actors  are  so  queer — actresses,  too.  They  will 
hide  malice  under  compliments;  they  will  deliver  in- 
nuendoes in  a  jest ;  they  will  make  most  injurious  state- 
ments about  one  another;  but  let  one  of  them  be 
stricken  down  with  sickness  or  trouble  and  every  hand 
goes  instantly  into  the  pocket,  even  if  it  is  already 
nearly  empty,  and  the  only  feeling  is  sympathy,  the 

340 


The  Opal 


only  thought  relief  for  the  unfortunate.  You  are  a 
generous  people,  Stewart !  " 

"  Youf  "  he  repeated,  pointedly. 

And  she  laughed,  and  answered :  "  Oh,  well !  we  are 
generous — is  that  better  ?  " 

"  Yes ! — much !  "  he  answered,  and  knelt  at  her  feet. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  One  kneels  to  a  queen !  "  replied  he.  She  laughed, 
and  flushed  a  little.  She  had  become  actress  enough  to 
send  out  early  for  her  papers.  "  And,"  he  added,  "  par- 
ticularly when  one  wishes  to  make  an  offering.  This 
is  an  anniversary,  beloved !  " 

Her  color  fled,  for  that  was  the  one  unsympathetic 
note  that  had  ever  sounded  between  them.  She  did 
not  understand  him  in  that  one  respect.  To  her  it 
seemed  almost  indelicate  to  remind  her  of  that  day 
when  she  had  forgiven.  She  was  to  understand  him 
later ;  but  now  he  saw  the  shadow  on  her  face,  and  his 
interpretation  was,  she  "  regrets  her  generosity,"  and 
all  his  love  shone  appealing  in  his  eyes  as  he  took  her 
hand,  and,  whispering,  "  In  memory  of  your  mercy, 
beloved,"  slipped  a  great  ring  upon  her  finger. 

She  glanced  down  at  it,  and  a  startled  cry  came  from 
her  lips.  It  was  an  opal — a  marvel!  a  very  wonder! 
It  was  not  merely  the  play  of  color  through  the  soft, 
milky  translucence,  the  ghost  of  blue,  the  vivid  flecks 
of  green,  the  pale  rose  deepening  into  flashes  of  ruby 
red,  the  amber  glow,  but  it  was  the  strange  quiver  and 
throb  in  it  that  made  it  seem  alive — uncanny!  She 
looked  at  him  questioningly.  "  Did  he  not  know, 
then,"  she  asked  herself,  "  the  superstition  attached  to 

341 


A   Pasteboard  Crown 

this  noblest,  most  fascinating  gem,  that  he  offered  it 
as  a  love  gift  ?  " 

"  See,"  he  said,  "  how  sharp  the  diamond  scintilla- 
tions are  compared  to  this  softened  glory!  Do  you 
see  that  throbbing  that  keeps  the  colors  all  the  time  in 
play?  That's  my  heart,  beloved,  as  it  quivers  with 
pain  and  shame  when,  belonging  to  you  utterly,  I  have 
to  ignore  you  before  the  world.  Do  you  guess  how  I 
suffer — I,  who  am  bound — I,  who  am  helpless !  I 
live  only  by  your  mercy — for  I  love  you  with  all  my 
soul!" 

And,  woman-like,  she  hid  her  own  grief,  and  com- 
forted him,  and  arranged  her  violets  and  talked  over 
their  mutual  triumphs  and  Dorothy's  last  note.  For 
he  had  great  regard  for  the  gentle  creature  in  whom 
he  recognized  great  moral  strength.  And,  as  he  was 
leaving,  he  looked  at  a  trophy  of  small  arms  and 
weapons  on  the  wall,  and  said :  "  This  Turkish  inlaid 
thing  is  rusting,  Sybil,  and  this  dagger — which  is  gen- 
uine— needs  attention,  too.  Let  Jane  Penny  bring 
them  over  to-night,  with  that  bulldog  revolver  I  left 
upstairs.  If  Jim  is  straightened  up  by  that  time  he  will 
clean  the  whole  outfit  to-morrow.  The  property-man's 
shooting-irons  are  all  out  of  kilter,  too.  There'll  be  a 
good  day's  job  to  clean  and  oil  them  all,  but  it's  the  sort 
of  pottering  work  Jim  likes.  Good-by,  sweetheart! 
Take  an  hour's  rest,  dear,  before  going  to  the  theatre. 
Beatrice  needs  to  be  well  keyed  up,  you  know."  He 
kissed  her  lips  and  eyes  and  hair,  and  left  her. 

And  she  stood  and  cried :  "  He  loves  me !  He  has 
crowned  me!  I  love  him  with  my  whole  heart!  I 

342 


The  Opal 


thank  him  from  my  very  soul !  But  oh,  what  a  posi- 
tion is  mine!  Unmarried — I  am  deprived  of  all  free- 
dom and  girlish  pleasures!  A  wife — I  am  denied  the 
honors  and  prerogatives  of  marriage !  "  Her  eyes  fell 
upon  the  great  opal,  quivering,  glowing,  glinting! 
"  He  suffers,  too,"  she  said.  "  Poor  Stewart !  "  and 
again  she  wondered  if  he  knew  the  superstition  at- 
tached to  opals,  and,  turning,  took  the  rusting  weapons 
from  the  trophy. 


343 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

Long  before  Sybil  rose  next  morning  Leslie  Gait 
had  left  at  the  door  a  great  bunch  of  lilacs,  the  very 
first  spring  blossoms  from  Dorothy's  own  garden,  and 
with  it  a  note.  Stivers  took  them  into  the  bedroom 
with  the  breakfast  tray,  and  as  Sybil  put  out  her  hand 
to  take  the  letter  Jane  gave  a  cry  ot  dismay.  "  For 
God's  sake !  is  that  thing  real  ?  "  she  asked,  pointing 
to  the  splendid  ring.  "  I — I  thought  last  night  it  was 
an  extra  fine  stage  jewel.  Do  you  mean  to  sit  there 
with  that  unlucky  stone  just  calling  out  for  death  and 
destruction,  fire  or  flood  or  scandal  or — or  all  of  them 
together  to  come  upon  you  ?  Take  it  off,  I  say !  take  it 
off!  and  let  me  carry  it  back,  for,  of  course,  it  was  Mr. 
Thrall  who  gave  it  to  you !  He  must  be  off  his  head — 
and  I'll  tell  him  so !  " 

"  Oh !  "  laughed  Sybil,  "  do  you  mind  it  so  much  ? 
No!  I  could  not  send  it  back,  that  would  hurt  the 
giver's  feelings;  besides,  what  possible  harm  can  a 
thing  so  beautiful  do  to  one  ?  " 

"  H — uh !  "  snorted  Stivers.  "  I  suppose  Mary 
Stuart  thought  opals  beautiful,  too,  but  they  didn't 
help  to  keep  her  head  on  her  shoulders !  " 

"  But,"  argued  Sybil,  "  the  poor,  lovely,  tormented, 

344 


The  Fall  of  the  Curtain 

blundering  queen  would  have  lost  her  royal  head  even 
if  she  had  never  owned  an  opal." 

"  You  don't  know  that,"  answered  Stivers ;  "  but 
you  do  know  that  she  wore  opals  and  lost  it.  My  very 
own  cousin  had  a  little,  weeny,  footy  bit  of  an  opal 
scarf-pin  given  him,  and  wore  it,  like  the  fool  he  al- 
ways was,  and  had  his  house  burned  over  his  head 
for  his  pains.  Don't  talk  to  me !  I  know!  Wasn't  a 
friend  of  my  husband's  given  an  opal,  and  while  he  was 
carrying  it  round  in  his  clothes,  making  up  his  silly 
mind  how  to  set  it,  didn't  his  mother-in-law,  a  great, 
bouncing,  big,  hearty  woman,  up  and  die  ?  " 

Sybil  nearly  strangled  over  a  combination  of  coffee 
and  laugh.  "  Oh,  Mrs.  Stivers,"  she  exclaimed,  "  if 
you  make  that  story  public  there  will  certainly  be  a 
boom  in  the  sale  of  small  opals — if  one  can  believe  the 
statements  of  the  comic  papers,  at  least." 

"  All  right,  Miss.  You  may  laugh,  but  I'll  watch 
my  home  closer  than  ever  for  fire  or  burglars.  I'd  as 
soon  move  into  a  new*  house  on  Friday,  and  I'd  a  sight 
rather  break  a  looking-glass  than  wear  that  thing  for 
an  hour !  "  and  she  retired  pretty  thoroughly  vexed. 

Sybil  touched  the  great,  shimmering  quiver  of  color 
with  her  lips,  whispering :  "  Poor  heart,  that  suffers 
for  me !  "  And  then,  with  the  fresh  odor  of  the  lilacs 
about  her,  she  opened  the  envelope  which  contained  a 
note  from  Dorothy,  enclosing  a  portion  of  a  letter  writ- 
ten by  Mrs.  Lawton  within  the  hour  of  her  arrival  at 
the  White  house. 

Dorrie  wrote  briefly,  sending  proudest  congratula- 
tions to  "the  successful,  admired,  newly  triumphant 

345 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

actress,  who  was  yet  her  own  dear  Sybbie — sweet  sis- 
ter, all  unchanged,  in  truth  and  love,"  and  a  tender 
assurance  of  her  own  well-being,  of  her  hopeful,  trust- 
ful waiting,  knowing  that  whether  she  received  death 
or  life  the  gift  would  come  from  God,  who  never  made 
mistakes.  So  she  waited  calmly.  "  It  seems  rather 
mean,"  she  added,  "  to  enclose  a  portion  of  mamma's 
'  note  ' — of  six  pages — but,  Syb,  I  can't  help  it,  I  simply 
can't!  I  wouldn't  let  papa  or  Leslie  know  it  for  the 
world,  but  you  will  understand  and  not  think  it  dis- 
respectful. Do  write,  Sybbie,  to  your  Dorothy !  " 

"  Yes,"  the  fragment  of  Mrs.  Lawton's  letter  read, 
"  I'm  afraid  I  overdid  it  a  bit.  Shopping,  you  know, 
is  very  fatiguing,  even  to  one  who  like  myself  never 
loiters  or  hesitates.  Anyway,  if  my  looking-glass  did 
not  so  flatly  contradict  me,  I  should  call  myself  quite 
an  old  woman  to-day.  But  let  me  get  on  to  what  I 
wish  to  say.  I  hate  anyone  who  meanders — never 
meander,  Dorothy.  Though  you  are  a  married  woman 
you  should  not  be  averse  to  a  little  advice  now  and 
then  from  one  who  watched  over  your  infancy — and  a 
very  quiet,  well-sleeping  babe  you  were,  too,  quite  dif- 
ferent from  Sybil,  who  was —  Well,  as  I  was  saying, 
meeting  Mr.  Thrall — a  man  tres  comme  il  faut — as  I 
have  always  said,  I  mentioned  your  hopes — he  being 
a  married  man  these  years  past,  and  most  friendly  in 
his  inquiries.  He,  in  offering  congratulations,  ex- 
pressed the  opinion  that  a  gift  of  twins  would  be  de- 
sirable, as  it  was  easier  to  select  names  for  two  than 
for  one,  and  family  friction  would  be  lessened  in  con- 
sequence. I  confess  I  was  startled,  and  'er,  well,  n«t 

346 


The  Fall  of  the  Curtain 

far  from  being  vexed,  and  I  plainly  told  him  I  hoped 
you  would  be  guilty  of  no  such  vulgarity.  You  should 
have  seen  his  eyes — very  remarkable  eyes,  you  must 
have  noticed  their  amazing  blueness — quite  like  the 
paler  sapphires.  Yes,  he  looked  perfectly  amazed. 
'  Vulgar  ?  '  he  repeated.  '  Could  a  Merivale-Meri- 
vale  be  guilty  of  vulgarity?  You  must  surely  know 
the  Merivale-Merivales,  Mrs.  Lawton  ? '  Imagine  my 
haste  to  tell  him  that  Mrs.  Merivale-Merivale  was  the 
only  child  and  heiress  of  my  friend  old  Tom  Bligh, 
who  used  to  say  she  was  so  democratic  that  she  would 
never  be  content  till  she  had  every  Tom,  Dick,  and 
Harry  in  society  about  her.  And  people  said  she  mar- 
ried Dick  Merivale-Merivale  so  that  she  could  help  out 
her  father's  saying.  And  Mr.  Thrall  said :  '  Dear  me ! 
and  did  you  not  know  that  she  has  twin  boys,  and  that 
she  calls  them  Tom  and  Harry?  Quite  clever,  for  so- 
ciety, is  it  not?  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry,  right  in  her 
own  family,  too ! '  My  dear,  I  was  never  more  taken 
aback !  And  then  he  went  on  to  tell  me  of  Lady  Some- 
body-Somebody, of  some  sort  of  '  hurst,'  in  some  shire 
in  England,  who  has  twin  daughters,  and  drives  about 
with  them,  and  has  them  always  mentioned  as  '  Lady 
So-and-So's  lovely  twins '  in  the  society  journals.  I 
declare,  I  was  quite  startled;  but  fashions  do  change 
so,  and  I'm  sure  its  no  fault  of  mine  that  I  have  fallen 
so  far  behind  the  times — and  been  so  out  of  every- 
thing. But  I  have  hastened  to  write  this  all  out  for 
your  comfort,  in  case  you  have  any  anxiety  on  that 
score.  I  don't  suppose  you  have,  but  I  frankly  admit 
that  I  should  myself  have  looked  upon  the  simultaneous 

347 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

arrival  of  yourself  and  Sybil  as  verging  upon  an  im- 
propriety. But  different  times — different  manners, 
and  there  is  no  questioning  the  fact  that  twins,  if  not 
de  rigueur,  are  at  least  genuinely  fashionable  now." 

Peal  after  peal  of  laughter  from  Sybil  brought 
Stivers  to  the  door,  pale  and  with  distinctly  frightened 
eyes,  "  In  the  name  of  heaven,  what's  the  matter  with 
you?  Stop  it!  stop  it!  You're  fey — that's  what  you 
are !  Ill  will  come  of  it — now  mind !  " 

"Fey? "  repeated  Sybil,  gurgling  still  with  laugh- 
ter. "  What  is  fey,  Mrs.  Stivers  ?  Why,  you  look  quite 
frightened ! " 

"  You  laugh  in  a  room  all  by  yourself !  You're  fey, 
and  that  means  you're  sort  of  possessed.  It's  an  evil 
spirit  of  mischievous  fun  that  takes  hold  of  you  just 
before  a  stroke  of  bad  luck  comes  upon  you.  Lord 
knows  you've  naught  more  to  do  now  than  to  get  up 
and  smash  a  looking-glass !  " 

"  Don't  be  worried !  "  said  Sybil,  seeing  the  woman's 
distress.  "  I  was  not  fey,  because  I  had  cause  for  laugh- 
ter. It  was  this  letter  that  amused  me." 

"  But  you  laughed  in  a  room  by  yourself,"  gloomily 
insisted  Stivers,  who  would  not  be  comforted,  and  re- 
moved the  tray  rather  sullenly. 

And  Sybil  laughed  again  and  yet  again,  for  she  could 
not  know  that  there  was  hurry  and  confusion  at  the 
old  White  house;  that  at  the  little  Riverdale  station, 
crouching  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  beside  the  swift-run- 
ning river,  the  quick  tic-tic-tacking,  and  dot-dot-dot 
dashing  were  spelling  out  words  of  sorrow  for  her. 
But  later,  as  she  rose  from  the  piano  and  went  to  the 

348 


The  Fall  of  the  Curtain 

window  to  look  out,  a  messenger  boy  on  the  steps 
reached  far  over  and  stole  a  flower  from  her  balcony 
before  he  rang  the  bell ;  and  she  laughed  again,  because 
he  so  nearly  landed  on  his  head  in  his  effort  to  reach 
the  blossom. 

She  always  remembered,  with  a  sick  misery,  that  she 
was  laughing  when  she  opened  the  telegram  that  said : 
"  Your  mother  has  died  in  her  sleep.  Discovered  an 
hour  ago.  Dorothy  must  not  know.  Come.  Father." 

She  never  remembered  how  she  was  made  ready  for 
the  street.  She  seemed  to  recover  her  consciousness 
only  as  she  found  herself  going  into  the  theatre  by  the 
back  way,  and  she  wondered  vaguely  why  she  had  not 
gone  in  the  front.  With  the  telegram  crushed  in  her 
ungloved  hand  she  had  flown  instantly  to  Stewart — in 
the  first  place,  from  the  blind  instinct  that  sends  the 
stricken  into  the  arms  of  the  loved  one  for  shelter,  for 
comfort ;  and  now,  in  the  second  place,  she  sought  him 
for  business  reasons,  so  that  he  might  have  all  the  time 
possible  in  which  to  arrange  matters  theatrical  during 
her  necessary  absence. 

She  made  her  hurried  way  to  Thrall's  private  office — 
that  little  red-walled  room,  where  she  had  first  met  him, 
and  where  her  own  picture  as  Juliet  now  reigned  su- 
preme. 

An  old  cloth  had  been  spread  over  the  open  desk, 
and  on  it  lay  a  litter  of  oily  rags,  bits  of  wire,  polishing 
powder,  loose  cartridges,  several  revolvers,  a  tiny  pistol 
used  by  stage  heroines,  and  Sybil's  beautiful  dagger. 

Jim  Roberts,  pallid,  puffy-eyed,  and  trembling  vis- 
ibly, sat  there  at  work,  and  Thrall,  seeing  the  great 

349 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

trickling  drops  of  perspiration  which  the  slightest 
effort  brought  out  upon  his  pasty  skin,  said :  "  Jim, 
either  you  must  give  that  job  up  for  to-day  or  you 
must  take  a  nip  to  steady  your  nerves.  You  can't  break 
short  off  after  being  on  the  rampage  as  you  were  yes- 
terday." 

But  Jim  lifted  miserable  eyes,  and  said,  doggedly: 
"  No !  She — the  Princess — might  come  in,  and  no- 
tice— "  (He  had  not  forgotten  that  remark  about  his 
fondness  for  cloves.) 

"  She's  not  at  all  likely  to  come  in  to-day,  and  if  she 
did,  she  would  only  feel  sorry  for  your  recklessness." 
He  turned,  and,  taking  a  handsome  travelling-flask 
from  a  shelf,  shook  it,  and  smilingly  announced : 
"  Half  full  yet."  He  poured  a  pretty  stiff  drink  into 
a  glass,  brought  it  to  Jim,  and,  pointing  to  water  stand- 
ing on  top  of  the  desk,  said :  "  There  you  are,  old  man 
— racer — chaser — everything  to  your  hand,  and,  for 
heaven's  sake,  wipe  your  dripping  face !  " 

Jim  swallowed  his  liquor  and  resumed  his  work,  ask- 
ing, querulously:  "  Where  is  that  chamois  skin?  I've 
hunted  that  infernal  thing  till  my  head  is  all  a-buzz." 

"  Go  to  the  box-office  and  get  a  new  one,"  said 
Thrall.  "  There's  a  bundle  of  them  in  the  drawer. 
Barney  will  give  you  one." 

"  No !  no !  "  irritably  replied  Jim.  "  I  want  the  one 
I've  been  using !  I  hate  a  new  chamois ;  besides,  how 
the  devil  could  the  thing  disappear !  I  used  it  on  that 
'  bulldog  '  of  yours  a  while  ago.  You're  a  nice  man  to 
own  a  fine  revolver  like  that,  and  let  it  get  spotted  and 
ate  into  with  rust.  You  ought  to  carry  a  bargain- 

350 


The  Fall  of  the  Curtain 

counter  ninety-nine-and-a-half-cent  sort  of  shooting- 
iron." 

Thrall  laughed  good-temperedly,  and,  picking  up 
the  revolver,  said :  "  Well,  you  have  cleaned  and  pol- 
ished and  oiled  the  old  thing  up  in  great  shape."  He 
stood  looking  down  at  the  weapon,  whose  white  ivory 
handle  and  heavily  nickled  barrel  and  trimmings  took 
nothing  from  its  threatening  look.  Short,  thick,  heavy, 
the  three-inch  double  barrel  and  the  wide  ugly  muzzle 
were  so  suggestive  that  Thrall  exclaimed :  "  By  Jove ! 
it's  well  named,  for  the  bulldog  is  just  what  it  reminds 
one  of." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jim,  still  searching  for  the  mislaid 
chamois ;  "  that's  a  dog  whose  bark  is  not  worse  than 
his  bite.  Be  a  little  careful,  will  you !  That's  a  mighty 
easy  trigger,  and  something  less  than  ten-horse  power 
will  cock  the  thing  full.  Oh,  damn!  damn!  where  is 
that  chamois  ?  " 

How  cruel  is  the  despotism  of  trifling  circumstance ! 
It  is  humiliating  to  think  that  a  life's  career — nay,  even 
more  than  that — hung  upon  the  finding  or  the  losing  of 
a  dirty  bit  of  leather ! 

Thrall  "  broke  "  the  revolver  to  look  at  the  cart- 
ridges, somehow  expecting  to  see  new  ones,  and  re- 
marked :  "  Oh,  you've  returned  the  old  cartridges,  I 
see?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Jim,  fretfully;  "but  what  of  it?  I 
haven't  get  any  new  325  on  hand,  but  the  old  ones  will 
bore  holes  in  a  man  that  will  serve  every  purpose.  I 
wish  I  had  an  old  silk  handkerchief  to  polish  this  in- 
laid work  with."  And  just  then  they  heard  the  rust- 

351 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

ling  of  skirts,  the  tap  of  heels,  and  Sybil  was  in  the 
room. 

Jim  Roberts  looked  up,  and,  at  sight  of  her  white 
face  and  frightened  eyes,  his  own  expression  changed 
so  swiftly  that  Thrall  was  startled.  The  latter  turned, 
and,  in  the  instant  of  recognition,  the  thought  flashed 
through  him  that,  as  Sybil  had  come  without  appoint- 
ment, Barney,  unwarned,  might  send  anyone  here  that 
asked  for  him;  and  he  said,  surprisedly,  even  a  little 
sharply :  "  Good  heaven,  child,  what  are  you  doing 
here  ?  "  and  the  girl  moaned : 

"  Oh,  Stewart !  Stewart !  the  message !  the  awful 
message ! "  and  crept  to  him  and  hid  her  face  on  his 
arm. 

Roberts,  weak  and  trembling,  and  with  glaring  eyes, 
made  his  way  out,  muttering  something  about  "  going 
to  the  office."  Outside  he  held  his  head  hard  between 
his  hands  and  leaned  against  the  wall  for  support. 
"  It's  come,"  he  said,  "  at  last !  Oh,  damn  him !  It's 
so  awfully  sudden,  too,  but  that's  him  all  over — his  love 
flaming  sky-high  one  moment  and  black  out  the  next !  " 

He  groaned,  and  rolled  his  head  miserably  about. 
He  had  understood  Sybil's  words  to  be :  "  Your  mes- 
sage— your  awful  message !  "  and  that  was  enough  to 
arouse  the  suspicions  of  the  poor  half-crazed  creature. 

'  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  '  Curse  him !  I  can  re- 
member how  hard  it  was  for  you  to  get  her  here  in  the 
first  place !  It  was  coax  and  plead  and  promise  then ! 
Now,  it's  '  what  are  you  doing  here ! '  She  is  not  like 
little  Bess.  She  will  be  more  likely  to  kill  him  than 
herself!" 

352 


The  Fall  of  the  Curtain 

He  started,  and  stood  upright.  "  That  must  not  be !  " 
he  said.  "  That  would  utterly  ruin  her  young  life ! 
No,  my  beautiful!  so  pale — so  frightened!  Oh,  I — " 
He  broke  off,  and  went  shambling  over  to  the  box-office 
and  asked  for  the  chamois. 

"  In  the  drawer,  there,"  said  Barney,  briefly. 

"  Hand  one  out,"  said  Jim ;  "  my  hands  are  all  oily 
and  grimy  from  cleaning  that  arsenal  in  there.  I  can't 
touch  anything  without  leaving  a  mark." 

Barney  handed  out  the  article,  and  Jim  deliberately 
returned  to  the  private  office.  As  he  entered  he  drew 
the  heavy  portiere  over  the  closed  door  and  passed  to 
the  desk  in  the  corner  and  sat  down. 

Stewart  had  been  much  shocked  at  the  blow  that 
had  fallen  so  suddenly  upon  Sybil,  and  had  shown  her 
such  tender  sympathy  and  love  that  at  last  the  tears 
had  rushed  to  her  hot  eyes,  and  now,  within  the  circle 
of  his  arm,  her  head  against  his  shoulder,  she  stood 
and  sobbed  piteously.  Neither  of  them  noticed  Jim, 
and  then  suddenly,  for  the  first  time,  she  put  into  words 
something  of  her  longing  for  his  open  protection  and 
love.  "  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  must  I  go  there  alone  ?  Must 
I  face  this  terrible  thing  without  you  ?  " 

Jim  heard,  and  his  face  was  dreadful.  A  pale  fire 
shone  in  his  watery  eyes,  his  nostrils  dilated  and 
quivered  rapidly,  his  upper  lip  drew  tremblingly  up- 
ward at  one  corner,  he  had  all  the  look  of  a  helpless  cur 
about  to  pass  into  a  convulsion. 

Sybil  had  but  spoken  Thrall's  own  thought.  He, 
too,  was  thinking  how  hard  it  was  that  he  could  not 
take  a  husband's  place  by  the  side  of  this  stricken 

353 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

creature  of  his  love,  and  he  groaned  but  made  no  an- 
swer. And  then,  poor  child,  the  thought  came  to  her  of 
some  other  woman  acting  with  him.  A  jealous  pain 
was  in  her  voice  as  she  cried :  "  And  you  will  put  an- 
other woman  in  my  place,  Stewart  ?  Oh,  Stewart,  how 
can  I  bear  it  all  ?  " 

There  came  from  the  corner  a  strange  sort  of  snarl. 
Jim  Roberts  was  on  his  feet,  a  dull  red  had  spread  over 
his  face,  his  very  eyeballs  were  suffused.  Thrall 
turned  his  head,  saw,  and,  with  all  his  strength,  flung 
Sybil  from  him,  and  simultaneously  with  Jim's  "  No, 
damn  you,  you'll  put  no  other  woman  in  her  place !  " 
the  "  bulldog  "  barked,  and  the  bullet  crashed  into  the 
breast  where  her  head  had  rested. 

For  an  instant  there  was  utter  silence;  a  smoke,  an 
evil  odor,  and  three  white  faces — that  was  all !  Thrall, 
who  had  clapped  his  hand  over  the  wound,  stood  tall 
and  erect  a  moment,  then  he  began  to  settle  together, 
as  it  were,  and  slowly  he  sank  backward  upon  the  couch 
behind  him,  his  head  against  the  wall,  his  right  hand 
partly  supporting  him.  He  was  perfectly  ghastly,  but 
entirely  conscious,  and  calm  and  self-controlled  to  an 
astounding  degree.  He  tried  to  draw  a  long  breath, 
and  then  a  new  horror  was  in  the  room — the  horror  of 
that  agonized  breathing.  He  spoke,  painfully,  word 
by  word,  and  his  thought  was  all  for  the  woman  he 
loved,  who  lay  against  the  wall  opposite,  her  arms  out- 
stretched on  either  side  just  as  she  had  staggered  there 
when  Stewart  flung  her  to  safety. 

"  Jim — the — private — door — get — Princess — away — 
quick !  Save — her — from — scandal !  " 

354 


The  Fall  of  the  Curtain 

And  Jim,  falling  back  instantly  into  the  old  sub- 
serviency and  obedience,  sprang  to  the  curtained  door, 
that  in  opening  outward  took  with  it  the  pedestal  and 
statuette  of  the  little  "  Love,"  which  were  securely 
fastened  to  it,  so  that  when  the  door  was  closed  again 
the  room  looked  utterly  undisturbed.  Pushing  the 
door  open  he  flew  to  Sybil,  who  had  never  moved,  and, 
catching  her  about  the  waist,  dragged  her  toward  it. 
As  she  was  passing  Thrall  he  took  his  hand  from  his 
breast  and  caught  at  her  fingers.  She  shuddered  at 
the  touch,  so  cold,  so  clammy,  so — so  wet ! 

"  Beloved ! "  his  eyes  looked  enormous  in  his  pallid 
face.  "  Beloved ! — I — sinned — against — you — but — it 
— was — from — love !  Forgive — can — you  ?  " 

A  sort  of  surprise  came  upon  her  face,  and  she  said, 
simply,  as  if  that  answered  completely  his  question: 
"  I  love  you,  dear  heart !  " 

One  flash  of  the  old  triumphant  light  came  to  his 
eyes;  then,  though  Death's  grim  face  looked  at  him, 
over  her  shoulder,  the  tormenting  jealousy  of  the  pas- 
sionate lover  flared  up  in  him,  and  he  gasped,  painfully : 
"  For— all— time— beloved  ?  " 

She  bent  and  kissed  his  eyes,  kissed  his  gasping  clay- 
cold  lips,  and  answered :  "  I  love  you  for  time  and  for 
eternity !  " 

And  Roberts,  whispering :  "  Quick !  Someone  will 
come ! "  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  to  the 
passage  and  set  her  down.  As  the  door  was  closing  on 
her  she  thought  she  heard  Stewart  say :  "  The  word — 
the  ruby — "  and  then  she  was  hurrying  up  to  her  dress- 
ing-room, passing  through  it  and  down  to  the  stage  en- 

355 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

trance,  where  there  was  no  doorman  at  that  hour,  and 
so  out  into  the  street. 

At  the  corner  she  glanced  down  toward  the  theatre, 
and  saw  a  hatless  man  tearing  madly  out  of  the  front 
door.  It  was  Barney.  He  said  something  as  he  ran. 
Two  people  stopped,  turned,  and  stared  at  the  building, 
and  so  formed  the  nucleus  of  the  swiftly  gathering, 
traffic-impeding  crowd — that  mushroom  growth,  so 
common  to  excitable  Broadway. 

Her  knees  trembled  threateningly  beneath  her,  faint- 
ness  seemed  stealing  over  her  senses.  She  dimly  saw 
a  cab,  working  its  way  up  the  street.  The  man  lifted 
his  whip  inquiringly;  she  raised  her  bare  hand  to 
summon  him,  and  then,  there  in  the  open  street,  she 
gave  a  cry  of  horror,  fortunately  drowned  by  other 
sounds,  for  that  was  the  hand  Thrall  had  clutched,  and 
his  chill,  blood-wet  fingers  had  left  three  close  lines  of 
red,  that,  circling  her  fingers,  led  straight  across  the 
great  opal.  She  gasped  out  her  street  and  number, 
and,  stumbling  into  the  cab,  she  heard  an  excited 
passer-by  remark :  "  That's  Sybil  Lawton  !  I'll  bet  a 
dollar  she  was  on  her  way  to  the  theatre ! "  And  as 
the  cab  passed  on  he  continued :  "  Well,  she  couldn't 
get  through  that  crowd!  I  'spose  a  policeman  has 
told  her  what's  happened  down  there.  We  had 
seats  for  to-night,  too — I  guess  they'll  redeem  the 
tickets." 

And  ten  minutes  later  the  rumor  was  running  like 
fire  in  dry  grass :  "  That  Sybil  Lawton  had  been  shop- 
ping and  a  policeman  stopped  her,  and,  without  warn- 
ing or  preparation  of  any  kind,  had  informed  her  of  the 

356 


The  Fall  of  the  Curtain 

shooting  of  her  manager,  and  she  collapsed,  and  was 
driven  home  in  a  cab." 

Murder  became  suicide — suicide  became  accident, 
before  the  clang  of  the  ambulance-gong  sent  the  de- 
pressing shivers  through  nerves  that  would  thrill  with 
pleasurable  excitement  at  the  sound  of  the  fire-gong. 
Then  a  group  of  men  came  out  of  the  front  door,  and 
hats  came  quickly  off  when  those  nearest  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  marble-white  face,  with  long,  inky  lashes 
clinging  close  to  ghastly  cheeks. 

For,  between  those  dreadful  whistling  breaths, 
Thrall  had  warned  Jim,  word  by  word,  that  it  was  "  an 
accident,"  and  explained  that  Jim,  having  supposed  the 
old  cartridges  were  withdrawn,  snapped  the  revolver, 
standing  at  close  range,  adding :  "  Keep — steady — 
stick — to — story — Jim — for — her — sake !  Now — call — 
make — big — row !  I'm — gone !  " 

And  Jim,  conscious  of  an  awful  blunder,  obeying  to 
the  letter,  as  Thrall  fainted,  tore  away  the  heavy 
portiere  that  had  helped  so  much  to  deaden  the  sound 
of  the  shot,  dashed  open  the  door,  and,  like  a  madman, 
shouted :  "  A  doctor !  a  doctor !  for  God's  sake,  Bar- 
ney! I've  shot  Thrall!  I  have!  I  have!  Oh,  run! 
run !  I'll  call  a  policeman  myself !  " 

He  was  obeying  orders — he  was  making  "  a  big 
row,"  but  suddenly  he  thought  of  Sybil.  "  Oh,  my 
beautiful !  "  he  cried ;  "  I  meant  to  serve  you,  and  I've 
robbed  you  instead !  "  And,  as  the  policeman  advanced 
toward  him,  he  fell  forward  in  the  fit  that  had  threat- 
ened him  all  the  day.  Yes,  Jim  was  obedient  to  the  last 
— he  made  "  a  big  row  " ! 

357 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

The  next  day,  almost  at  the  same  hour,  the  pale 
woman  who  had  watched  at  Thrall's  side  almost  un- 
winkingly  left  the  room  for  a  moment  to  confer  with 
her  maid.  "  English  crepe,"  she  whispered,  "  of  course. 
The  heaviest  and  best  is  always  the  cheapest  in  the  long 
run." 

It  was  only  a  moment's  absence,  but  the  long  lashes 
on  the  stricken  man's  ghastly  face  lifted,  the  hand  went 
to  the  wounded  breast.  With  the  instinct  of  the  actor, 
who  always  considers  effect,  he  thought  gratefully  that 
the  hemorrhage  had  been  internal,  and  that  he  had  not 
been  an  offensive-looking  object.  He  turned  his  eyes  to 
the  side  where  Lettice  had  sat  and  watched.  She  was 
not  there.  His  eyes  widened  with  pleasure.  He  rose 
suddenly — the  effort  was  a  mistaken  one.  He  realized 
it  in  a  moment.  There  was  a  red  spot  creeping  out  on 
his  shirt,  and — and  a  salty  taste  in  his  mouth.  Yet  he 
smiled,  almost  maliciously,  as  he  thought :  "  I  am  es- 
caping her,  after  all !  " 

Then  he  knew.  He  shivered.  "  Sybil !  "  he  said ; 
"beloved!" 

The  door  opened — the  clock  was  striking  down- 
stairs— from  a  near  room  came  the  whir  of  a  sewing- 
machine — Stewart  Thrall  was  dead. 


358 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

"  THOU    KNOWEST  !  " 

Mrs.  Van  Camp  put  ease  and  comfort  from  her, 
placed  Poll  in  his  cage,  and  left  a  bunch  of  white  grapes 
dangling  from  its  top,  hoping  that  the  fruit  might  at- 
tract his  attention  sufficiently  to  stop  his  hoarse: 
"  'Omeo !  'Omeo !  dead !  dead !  "  that  now  was  more 
distressing  to  listen  to  than  his  most  distinct  profanity. 
She  had  dressed  herself  for  the  street,  and  in  her  char- 
acter of  godmother  hastened  to  Sybil's  side.  Then, 
finding  her  prostrated,  and,  for  the  time  being,  utterly 
incapable  of  action  of  any  kind,  like  the  loyal  friend 
she  was,  she  went  on  up  to  Riverdale  at  once  to  the 
assistance  of  John  Lawton  and  Leslie  Gait ;  who,  dazed 
and  confused,  seemed  as  helpless  as  two  male  babes, 
until  the  bright,  clever,  capable  old  lady  took  charge 
and  gave  orders  and  made  suggestions. 

Neither  she  nor  Leslie  liked  the  strange  blank  look 
in  poor  old  John  Lawton's  eyes.  The  blow  had  stunned 
him  seemingly.  Yet  he  was  observant  enough  about 
anything  affecting  his  Letitia,  and  Sybil  Van  Camp  had 
felt  tears  springing  to  her  eyes  when,  having  to  enter 
Mrs.  Lawton's  sleeping-room,  she  saw  John  catch  up 
the  little  bottle  of  rouge  vinaigre  from  the  toilet-table 
and  hide  it  in  his  Docket.  "  Poor,  loyal  old  gentle- 

359 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

man !  "  she  thought ;  "  as  if  all  her  world  did  not  know 
that  Letitia  Lawton  rouged !  " 

The  absence  of  his  worshipped  children  made  the 
burden  of  his  grief  almost  unbearable.  He  knew  that 
Dorothy  was  to  be  deceived,  if  possible,  for  a  few  days, 
so  that  she  might  have  undiminished  strength  and 
courage  for  the  great  trial  she  was  approaching  so 
rapidly ;  but  Sybil — "  where  was  Sybil  ?  "  That  was 
all  he  said,  muttering  the  words  very  low. 

He  could  give  no  assistance  to  anyone,  could  not  tell 
where  anything  could  be  found ;  only  he  could  not  be 
kept  away  from  that  white,  still  thing,  that  he  looked 
at  with  such  blank,  piteously  faded  eyes,  as  though  he 
were  trying  to  trace  in  it  some  resemblance  to  the  light, 
frivolous  but  vivid  Letitia,  who  for  twenty-four  years 
had  talked  him  to  sleep  o'  nights,  and  whose  silence 
now  was  so  sudden  and  so  cruel. 

Once  Leslie,  coming  softly  in  to  try  again  to  lead 
the  old  man  away,  overheard  him  murmuring :  "  She 
does  not  come — they  are  both  independent  of  me  now. 
I — I — think  I'll  just  go  with  you  Letitia,  my  dear !  " 
and,  frightened,  he  turned  and  sought  Mrs.  Van 
Camp. 

And  that  wise  woman  answered :  "  You  see,  you  were 
in  error  trying  to  hide  this  disaster  to  Mr.  Thrall  from 
him.  He  thinks  Sybil  neglects  him.  The  shock  will 
not  break  him  entirely,  as  you  imagine,  but  it  will 
arouse  him  to  a  desire  to  help  his  child." 

"  Right !  "  exclaimed  Leslie.  "  That's  the  dear  old 
chap  all  over !  We  must  make  him  believe  her  welfare 
depends  wholly  upon  his  protection  and  care — or,  in- 

360 


"Thou  Knowest!" 

deed,  Mrs.  Van  Camp,  I  fear  he  will — well,  let  us  say, 
let  go!" 

And  so  the  kindly  conspirators  planned  that,  as  the 
death  of  Mr.  Thrall  could  scarcely  be  kept  from  Dor- 
othy's knowledge,  and  if  she  learned  of  it  she  would 
think  her  mother  was  with  Sybil  for  a  few  days,  the 
shattered  old  man  Lawton  should  be  made  to  believe 
Sybil's  welfare  depended  entirely  upon  him ;  and  Sybil, 
— poor  child! — crushed  as  she  was,  would  see  at  a 
glance  that  her  father's  life  depended  upon  her  loving 
companionship.  And  then  they  led  the  old  gentle- 
man from  the  darkened  room  out  to  the  porch,  and, 
each  holding  one  of  his  hands,  they  told  him  of  the  ac- 
cidental shooting  of  Mr.  Thrall,  of  the  crushing  effect 
of  the  double  blow  upon  Sybil.  But  before  their  story 
was  done  he  was  drawing  his  hands  away  and  crying : 
"  My  little  girl !  my  little  girl !  I  must  go  to  you  at 
once ! "  and  it  required  the  repeated  assurance  of  Mrs. 
Van  Camp  that  his  child  would  come  to  him  by  an  early 
train  next  morning  to  keep  him  from  hurrying  to  the 
city. 

When  Mrs.  Van  Camp  had  left  the  red  brick  house 
with  the  flower-filled  windows  Sybil  had  raised  her- 
self from  her  pillows  and  had  struck  the  small  gong- 
bell  on  the  stand  by  her  bed  sharply — twice — three 
times.  And  Stivers  called  up  to  her :  "  In  a  moment, 
Miss  Sybil !  "  but  did  not  appear ;  and  again  the  gong 
sounded,  and  at  last  the  woman  came  with  a  cup  of 
black  coffee  in  her  hand.  "  It's  no  use  frowning,  Miss 
— no  use  waving  your  hand  !  That  doctor  gave  you  an 
opiate  last  night,  and  now  you  just — no!  I  won't  lis- 

361 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

ten  to  what  you  want  until  you  swallow  down  this  cof- 
fee— to  steady  your  nerves.  No !  Miss — no !  He's  not 
gone  yet — there's  no  '  extra '  out  at  all.  That's  some 
pedler  you  hear.  Take  it  down  now,  all  of  it.  There ! 
You'll  be  the  better  for  that.  Now,  what  was  it  you 
wanted  ?  " 

And  Sybil  fastened  her  woful  eyes  on  the  woman's 
.face,  and  begged :  "  Mrs.  Stivers,  will  you  bring  a  jew- 
eler here  to  my  room,  as  quickly  as  possible  ?  " 

"A — a — what?"  stammered  Stivers,  "a  jeweler — 
no,  I  can't  leave  you  to  go  away  over " 

"  But,"  the  girl  interrupted,  "  anyone  will  do — any 
working  jeweler.  Right  in  the  next  avenue  there  is  a 
little  shop — you  won't  be  gone  more  than  fifteen  min- 
utes. You  must,  indeed  you  must !  " 

"  O-o-oh !  "  thought  Stivers ;  "  she  wants  to  get  rid 
of  that  opal,  now  all  the  damage  is  done."  Aloud  she 
warned :  "  If  you're  going  to  try  to  do  any  business, 
you  don't  want  a  little  tu-penny-ha'penny  creature 
like  that  to  deal  with.  Well!  well!  I'm  going — but 
suppose  the  bell  rings  ?  Yes,  I'll  hurry !  " 

White  and  worn-looking,  Sybil  fell  back  upon  the 
pillow,  her  tumbled  dark  hair  clouding  over  her  brows, 
her  hot  eyes  staring  before  her,  and  every  nerve  tense, 
waiting  for  the  "  E-e-extray !  e-e-extray ! "  at  whose 
sound  her  world  of  love  would  crumble  to  nothingness. 

Had  she  or  had  she  not  heard  Stewart  gasp  "  The 
word — the  ruby — ?  "  If  she  had,  then  the  word  must 
have  had  an  immense  significance  for  him,  and  sud- 
denly her  dumb,  inert  despair  was  broken  by  an  in- 
tense longing  to  know  what  the  word  was  that  even 

362 


"Thou  Knowest!" 

rapidly  approaching  death  had  not  driven  from  his 
recollection.  For  Sybil  did  not  try  to  deceive  herself. 
Anyone  hearing  that  awful  breathing  must  have  real- 
ized that  it  meant  a  pierced  lung,  and  she  had  been 
hopeless  from  the  first.  She  felt  that  the  explanation 
given  by  Thrall  and  Roberts  was  not  true — that  the 
shooting  had  not  been  accidental ;  but  she  supposed  it 
had  been  the  motiveless  act  of  a  drink-maddened  man. 
For  Jim  Roberts  had  never  breathed  a  hint — drunk  or 
sober — of  the  miserable  fate  of  his  young  sister,  still 
less  of  his  piteous  passion  of  love  for  herself.  So,  in 
the  absence  of  reasonable  motive,  she  charged  the 
dreadful  deed  to  drunkenness. 

Stivers  had  eagerly  seized  upon  the  cue  given  by 
rumor,  and  declared  that  Sybil  had  been  shopping,  and 
was  going  toward  the  theatre,  when,  etc.,  etc. ;  and  she 
had  carefully  drilled  her  mistress  in  this  story,  before 
the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Van  Camp. 

And  now  the  unhappy  girl  lay  there  straining  her 
ears  for  that  cry  of  "  Extra !  "  that  she  so  dreaded,  and 
tormenting  herself  with  thoughts  of  what  she  might 
have  said  and  done  yesterday,  had  she  not  been  so 
stupefied  with  terror.  At  last  she  heard  Stivers  open- 
ing the  door,  and  presently  she  was  showing  in  a 
sandy-haired,  hooked-nosed  young  man,  with  thick  red 
lips  and  an  appraising  eye,  that  seemed  at  a  glance  to 
put  a  price  upon  each  article  in  the  room.  She  took 
the  glittering  diamond  heart  from  her  neck,  and,  plac- 
ing it  in  the  man's  hand,  asked  him  to  remove  the  back. 
She  would  not  listen  to  his  proposal  to  take  it  to  his 
shop — it  must  be  done  there,  even  at  the  risk  of  scratch- 

363 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

ing  the  gold.  Scratch  or  dent  it,  if  he  must,  but  open 
it  he  should !  At  last  the  back  came  off,  and  the  man 
remarked :  "  I  think  there's  something  engraved  here." 
But  Sybil's  hand-clasp  covered  the  inscription.  "  Wait 
in  the  other  room,"  she  commanded. 

She  bolted  the  door,  flew  to  the  window,  and,  catch- 
ing the  light  upon  the  metal,  read  the  word  she  had 
worn  upon  her  breast  three  years — the  word  Stewart 
said  made  the  sole  value  of  the  gem — read  and  fell 
upon  her  knees,  and  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow  and 
sobbed  and  cried :  "  I  understand  you  better  now,  dear 
heart !  "  and  kissed  again  and  again  the  four  little  let- 
ters that  formed  that  one  significant  word,  "  Wife." 

An  hour  later  the  expected  cry  arose  in  the  street. 
Hoarse  bawling  went  up  one  side  and  down  the  other, 
and  Sybil  knew  the  man  who  had  been  her  idol,  dearer, 
more  precious  than  the  whole  great  world,  he  whose 
love  had  been  as  the  very  breath  of  life  to  her,  was 
gone  away  forever !  And,  lying  with  the  locket  pressed 
against  her  lips,  she  breathed :  "  Wife,  you  said,  dear 
heart?  Then  your  widow  now,  and  as  loyal  in  the 
shadow  of  your  death  as  I  was  in  the  sunlight  of  your 

life!" 
******* 

In  the  passenger  list  there  had  appeared  the  names 
of  Mr.  J.  Lawton  Bassett  and  daughter,  and  the  pair 
thus  registered  had  gone  on  board  over  night  because 
of  the  very  early  hour  of  sailing,  they  said,  but  it  was 
really  an  effort  to  avoid  public  notice ;  and  all  the  bell- 
ringing,  pulling,  hauling,  rushing,  and  trampling  were 
over  and  comparative  quiet  reigned  before  John  Law- 

364 


"Thou  Knowest!" 

ton  and  Sybil,  his  daughter,  ascended  to  the  deck  to 
look  about  them  and  with  sad  eyes  to  take  farewell  of 
the  great  city  they  loved,  with  its  rapidly  softening 
outlines,  blending,  blurring  into  a  grayish  mass 
touched  with  a  few  strong  darks,  many  sharp,  white 
lights,  and  here  and  there  a  gleam  from  the  golden 
cross  of  some  sky-piercing  spire.  As  they  leaned 
against  the  rail,  the  girl  with  cloudy  hair,  sombre  eyes, 
and  black-robed  figure  clinging  to  the  arm  of  the  pale 
old  gentleman,  also  in  mourning,  they  made  a  pathetic 
picture.  Silently  they  watched — each  was  trying  to 
hide  grief  for  the  other's  sake.  It  was  well  for  Sybil 
that  this  helpless  old  father  needed  her  devoted  care, 
for  an  awful  temptation  had  come  to  her  in  her  despair. 
"  Oh,"  she  cried,  now  in  her  heart,  "  if  I  only  had 
Dorothy's  faith  in  God !  Dorothy's  hope  for  the  beau- 
tiful hereafter !  But,"  she  mused  bitterly,  "  Dorothy 
has  not  sinned,  while  I — and  yet,  if  God  is  what  she 
believes  Him,  He  could  pity  even  me ! "  Then  she 
shivered,  for,  looking  out  over  the  water,  she  thought 
of  the  exultant  old  anthem,  and  quoting  "  The  sea  is 
His,  and  He  made  it ! "  she  felt  suddenly  that  she  was 
too  small,  too  insignificant,  for  her  cry  of  repentance  to 
be  noticed. 

The  wind  was  sharpening.  Her  thoughts  came  back 
to  her  father.  They  had  been  out  there  a  very  long 
time — too  long,  and — and  what  was  that  man — the 
purser — doing?  Handing  an  envelope  to  a  big  man 
already  in  cap  and  ulster,  and  calling — could  she  be 
right — calling :  "  Miss  Lawton  ?  Is  a  Miss  Sybil  Law- 
ton  here  ?  "  The  pilot  had  been  dropped  half  an  hour 


A  Pasteboard  Crown 

or  more  ago.  Why — why,  what  was  this?  An  en- 
velope thrust  into  her  unwilling  hand,  and  the  purser 
was  away,  calling  for  a  Mr.  Pemberton  Something,  and 
waving  one  last  missive  aloft  for  its  claimant. 

"  Dorothy !  "  gasped  the  old  man,  and  closed  his  eyes 
a  moment. 

Sybil's  nervous  fingers  tore  the  envelope,  and  opened 
the  bit  of  yellow  paper.  She  read  breathlessly,  looked 
about  her,  passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  read  again. 
And  then  she  flung  her  arms  about  her  father's  tremb- 
ling, frail  old  body,  buried  her  face  in  his  breast,  and 
laughed — laughed  with  tears  running  down  her  cheeks 
— laughed  and  blessed  God  for  his  goodness !  Then, 
looking  up  at  her  father's  quivering  mouth,  she  put  her 
fingers  on  it,  saying :  "  Don't,  dada,  it's  good  news — 
about  Dorothy !  " 

A  smile  came  to  his  lips,  an  eager  light  to  his  eyes. 
"  Why !  why !  "  he  said.  "  I  expected  the  news  would 
be  awaiting  us  at  Liverpool ;  but  really,  I " 

Again  that  hysterical  laughter  shook  the  girl. 
"  You're  surprised,  darling !  "  she  said,  "  but  wait  till 
you  hear  the  message." 

"  Sybil  Letitia  and  Dorothy  Grace  have  arrived. 
Mother  and  both  babies  well.  Look  for  cable.  Leslie." 

John  Lawton  straightened  up  suddenly.  "  W-w- 
what !  "  stammered  he.  "  Sybil  Letitia  ?  W-w-y  ? 
Who  on  earth — Dorothy  Grace  ?  Why,  but  that's  two, 
Sybil !  Two's  twins  !  Well,  I  am  astonished — at  Dor- 
othy !  "  And  then,  before  she  could  answer,  a  pleased 
look  came  on  his  face,  as  he  continued :  "  Poor  Letitia 
would  have  thought  that  so  fashionable!  I  wish  she 

366 


"Thou  Knowest!" 

knew,  dear !  She  so  loved  to  be  within  the  fashion !  " 
He  drew  Sybil  close  to  him,  and  she  thought  with  sick 
longing  of  that  stronger  arm  that  used  to  circle  her 
about  so  tenderly.  He  looked  backward  as  he  mur- 
mured :  "  Little  Dorrie's  babies !  "  Then,  glancing 
down  at  the  dark,  drooping  head  without  reason,  a  con- 
viction came  to  him  that  Dorothy's  children  would  have 
to  be  Sybil's  children,  too. 

She  raised  her  woful  eyes,  and,  meeting  his  pitying 
glance,  answered  the  look,  saying :  "  Dorothy  never 
failed  yet  to  share  her  joys  with  me,  dada !  " 

He  turned  his  eyes  again  toward  the  land  they  were 
leaving.  "  Sybil  Letitia — that's  for  you  and  wife.  Dor- 
othy Grace — that's  for  Dorrie  and  Leslie's  mother.  I — 
didn't  he  say  anything  about  the  color  of  their  eyes, 
dear?  Strange !  "  he  murmured,  discontentedly.  "  He 
might  have  said  that  much !  " 

"  Probably  we  shall  learn  all  you  wish  at  Liverpool, 
dear !  "  she  patiently  answered,  while  her  heart  con- 
tracted with  a  new  loneliness.  They  had  fled  together 
from  two  freshly  made  graves,  but  already  it  was  evi- 
dent that  baby  hands  were  tuning  the  worn  old  heart- 
strings anew ;  that  these  two  creatures,  with  eyes  full 
of  knowledge  from  the  great  Beyond,  held  speechless 
till  they  should  forget  from  whence  they  came,  and  al- 
lowed only  wordless  cries,  were  yet  summoning  him, 
with  almost  irresistible  power,  back,  back ! 

"  Do  you  not  think,  daughter,  that  brief  trips  abroad 
at  frequent  intervals  are  as  beneficial  as  one  more  pro- 
longed visit  ?  "  he  naively  asked,  his  pale  old  eyes  look- 
ing quite  eagerly  at  her. 

367 


"  Yes,  dear,"  she  answered  him,  and  then  she  led 
him  away,  fearing  the  effect  on  him  of  the  cold  and 
the  increasing  motion.  Still  he  looked  backward,  and 
she  persuadingly  said :  "  Go,  now,  dear,  and  as  soon  as 
you  are  safely  in  your  berth  I'll  come  to  you,  and  we 
will  talk " 

"About  Dorothy's  babies — our  little  twins?" 

"  Yes,  dada !  All  about  them — their  names  and  prob- 
able color,  probable  weight,  everything  we  can  think 
of ! "  And  then  she  went  back  and  looked  long  out 
over  the  vast  gray,  pathless  expanse.  "  '  The  sea  is  His, 
and  He  made  it ! '  What  inconceivable  power !  And 
yet  that  mighty  Creator  noted  the  fall  of  a  sparrow. 
Oh ! "  she  thought,  as  she  pressed  the  jewel  to  her 
breast  till  it  hurt  the  tender  flesh.  "  I — who  am 
widowed  for  all  my  life — I  thank  you  for  your  mercy 
and  goodness  in  bringing  safe  and  happy  deliverance 
to  my  beloved  sister !  And  humbly  I  beseech  you  now, 
to  deliver  me  my  soul!  For  I  am  a  sinful  woman — 
troubled  and  heavy,  for  that  we  lost  our  way  through 
love!  But  now  I  cannot  bear  my  woe  alone!  Help 
me,  O  mighty  and  powerful  One,  hereafter  to  live  ac- 
cording to  Thy  will!  Purify  me  in  heart  and  mind, 
that  I  may  be  a  fit  companion  for  those  little  ones  you 
have  sent  into  our  lives !  " 

She,  too,  began  to  feel  a  longing  for  sight  and  touch 
of  those  precious  mysteries — Dorrie's  babies.  Stew- 
art had  been  so  anxious  for  Dorothy's  welfare.  She 
pressed  her  locket  closer.  "  Oh !  "  she  thought,  "  how 
I  will  love  them!  Sybil  Letitia — Dorothy  Grace! 
Yes,  you  are  very  nice  and  stately,  and  will  look  well 

368 


"Thou  Knowest!" 

upon  the  records,  and,  later  on,  upon  marriage  cards ; 
but,  dear  little  gifts,  you  will  answer,  all  your  baby 
years  at  least,  to  the  tenderly  commonplace  Sybbie 
and  Dorrie,  so  familiar  to  a  Lawton  nursery,  and  will 
doubtless  be  as  hardy,  happy,  and  sturdy  as  Lawton- 
Galt  babies  ought  to  be!  And  oh,  if  you  thrive  and 
are  spared  to  the  years  of  your  sweet  budding,  you 
shall,  by  your  right  divine,  be  taught  frankly  and  by 
high  authority  those  great  truths  that  are  too  often 
learned  only  in  degrading  secrecy  from  unworthy  lips. 
Do  I  not  know  the  danger,  the  cruelty,  of  sending 
forth  the  young  in  the  innocence  of  utter  ignorance! 
But  you,  my  Dome's  little  daughters,  shall  be  taught 
to  look  forward  to  some  proud  day  in  your  girlhood 
when,  as  a  guerdon  for  patient  waiting  and  unhesitat- 
ing obedience,  you  shall  receive  from  reverent  lips 
knowledge  of  the  mysteries  of  life  and  love — of  the 
almost  divine  honor  of  a  perfectly  pure  womanhood ! 
So  shall  propinquity  be  as  naught;  so  no  moment  of 
strange,  overwhelming  weakness,  no  sudden  flaring 
up  of  impulse,  shall  have  power  to  bewilder  and  con- 
fuse you,  to  your  harm!  And  thus,  knowing  some- 
thing of  both  your  weakness  and  your  strength,  it  will 
not  be  in  the  innocence  of  ignorance  that  you  will  face 
the  world,  but  with  the  clear-eyed,  pure-hearted  inno- 
cence of  wisdom ! " 


Just  then  Sybil's  skirts  snapped  in  the  wind,  and 
whipped  close  about  her  ankles.  "  Oh !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Papa !  I  must  go  to  papa !  "  She  smiled  faintly  as 

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A  Pasteboard  Crown 

she  thought,  "  While  he  has  been  waiting  the  babies 
have  grown  up  into  lovely  womanhood." 

One  more  long  look  she  gave  over  the  heaving,  rest- 
less, gray  sea,  and  suddenly  a  very  agony  of  grief 
swept  over  her.  She  bowed  her  head.  "  I  can't  help 
it,"  she  breathed ;  "  I  repent  of  my  sin,  yet  I  still  love 
and  long  for  him !  " 

She  pressed  the  locket  (with  the  word)  closer.  "  But 
I  will  pray  on,  all  my  life ;  for  " — she  raised  great  tear- 
brimmed  eyes  to  heaven — "  to  understand  is  to  par- 
don, and  '  Thou  knowest ' !  " 


THE   END. 


370 


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